Born Again
by fanfar3
Summary: This is the story of how Priestly came to work for the Beach City Grill.
1. You Found Me

(2003) He listened to the waves crashing in a little cove on the Gulf of Mexico and let his backpack thud to the sandy drift at his feet. He'd hitched there from Latimer, Mississippi, which he'd thought would be impossible but which turned out to be startlingly easy. Maybe it was his appearance. Maybe no one could imagine a guy with a green Mohawk, camouflage cargo shorts, and a t-shirt that read, "Mount and Do Me" hurting anyone. After all, whenever the serial killers were on trial, they were always described as the "boy-next-door" type. Good looking, well dressed, clean cut all-American types. Priestly, as he'd decided to start calling himself, was the polar opposite of that.

He wasn't specifically trying to get to Florida, actually. He was just trying to get anywhere else besides where he was. It was cold in the panhandle, which he hadn't expected. When he thought of Florida, he thought of sticky heat and old people and co-eds on Spring Break. And, okay, it wasn't spring yet. It was January. But he'd still somehow pictured things differently. He'd pictured himself finding a job and a place to live, having nothing but fun and genuinely not giving a damn about anything, all of which would be a change from the life he'd been living, which was more in-line with the serial killer thing...dress slacks and stuffy button downs, watered-down hair, a prep-school smile, and a 3.9 GPA. All of it in the little brick house on the manicured street where even the dogs barked politely, with a fifties throwback mother, and a father that, to all outward appearances, was a firm but cordial man who loved the Lord. Capital 'L'.

Looking at Priestly now, you'd hear Godsmack instead of gospel. You'd imagine him burning the Bible rather than thumping it, and you'd probably never guess he had a favorite scripture. But then, a lot of things had been stripped away in the last seven days. God created the world in seven days. And since then, Priestly had re-created it. The first rule of his new world was that he was never going to tell anyone his first name if he could help it. The second was that he could treat his 'temple' (as his father and the Bible called it) any way he pleased. And what pleased him was the _fuck you, Dad_ way it looked right now.

But it was farce, all of it. Living without everything he'd been immersed in since birth was just…impossible. He felt like his soul had died. He wondered if there really was a God or if all the atheists had been right, if he was just ridiculous…a joke that the rest of the world got and that he was only just coming to a sick realization of. He wondered if this was what was meant by a "dark night of the soul". He'd never felt so free, but it was not the good, lighthearted feeling he'd always thought the word implied. It was devastating, lonely, and cruel.

He'd been on his own for just seven days. Though he'd thought sure someone would be willing to hire him regardless of his appearance, even the edgier music stores, skater shops and head shops just took his applications and smiled and told him they'd keep him on file for six months. The Trac-fone he'd bought in Biloxi, the number to which he'd given on each application, hadn't rung once since. He couldn't go home. No way. What little family he had was still back in Latimer, so that was no good. His father's tight grip left him with few close friends because his father found ways to keep him from making any that weren't affiliated with the church. The church friends he had were still snowed. Both of his closest ones tried to convince him to go home, to talk to his father and mother. They care about you. They're worried about you. His answer? Hell, no. There just seemed to be nothing left. Not in Latimer. Not here. Not anywhere.

He crouched down and dumped the clutter of seven days on the road on his own out onto the sand. Three t-shirts, a scattering of pocket change, a few crumpled bills of various denominations, a stick of black eyeliner, the green hair gel he'd fashioned his first Mohawk with one boring afternoon, a studded bracelet that irritated the hell out of his wrist but which looked cool, about forty sticks of individually vacuum-packed beef jerky which seven days ago he'd loved but which he knew he'd never willingly eat again if he lived to be 100, a fold-up rain poncho he'd picked up in Mobile, a couple pairs of boxers, and a pair of jeans whose back pocket held his wallet and his ID and even the ATM card to his checking account, which had about $945 left in it. All he had to his name, dumped on the sand.

Priestly didn't stop to think. He just started shoving the biggest rocks he could find into the backpack. If he thought about it too much, he'd probably change his mind. And if there was one thing he was tired of, it was thinking. He just wanted to turn his brain off, and this was the surefire way he knew to do just that.

Trucker rode the wave almost all the way to shore, sighing at the bittersweet tug he got realizing it was the last one before he'd have to face the endlessness of the drive back to California. He didn't usually mind being alone, having time to think and just drink in the world around him. But he hadn't intended to ever look back at the parts of his life he was ashamed of, either. So, so much for intentions and best laid plans.

He thought about sleeping one last time in his van on the beach, but he knew he couldn't possibly get away with it for a second night. There were 'no trespassing' signs everywhere. The cops would surely take notice, and he really didn't need the fines.

It was luck or it was fate that made him look up at the cliffs over the cove. He saw the shadowy figure there, bent over something, silhouetted by the rapidly setting sun. As the sun dipped lower behind that cliff, the shadow came into sharper focus, lifting something onto its shoulders and staggering with it. Trucker's heart started hammering, though consciously, he couldn't say why. That had happened a lot in his life, in the parts he liked to tuck away and not think too much about. They'd said he was better at sensing trouble than any radio transmissions, any sirens.

He was paddling furiously even before the figure with its freshly shouldered burden took a resolute leap and plunged violently into the roaring tide below.

* * *

Actually finding the shadow figure was more of the same: dumb luck. A miracle. Whatever you chose to call it. But Trucker kept his eyes on the place where he thought the shadow figure landed, and when he caught a vibrant yellow amidst the brackish water and white foam, he reached down and pulled a fist of it up. Jesus. Jesus Christ. He was a just a kid. Just a young kid. Well, not a _kid _kid. Probably a very young adult, which was a kid compared to Trucker's fifty-three years.

Another bit of luck was the fact that whatever the kid had slung on his shoulders before jumping was no longer on his back. There's no way he'd have been floating for Trucker to find if the burden had still been there. Seeing his face, pale as death but streaked with rivulets of something vibrant green, Trucker got sick flashes of the dark things he'd long ago put away like tucking winter clothes into dusty trunks in dustier attics. He pushed them aside even as he pulled the kid up across the board face down and strained for the shore.

He was fully aware of the clock ticking, of the seconds rushing by as he hit the shallows, dumped the board, and dragged the kid up onto the sand high enough so his face and a little of his shoulders were out of the water. Waiting for a pulse was, he imagined, like waiting for the man in the gallows to release the trap door. There! Faint. Incredibly faint, but he felt the barest throb under the pad of his index finger.

There was no breath, however. And that meant he might lose the pulse, too.

Trucker tipped the kid's head back, gently pinched his nose shut and started rescue breathing. Four breaths. Nothing. Three breaths, and then the kid choked and jerked, water and vomit rushing forth. Trucker gently rolled the flailing kid to the side, away from himself, and winced as he watched the poor guy empty out.

When it was finished, the kid flopped back on the sand, lifting one quivering hand up to his face to wipe it off. Trucker met his eyes, saying nothing for a long moment. He just stared into the bewildered green eyes and wondered what was so wrong in the kid's life that he'd try to drown himself. His voice was quiet as he said,

"You're going to freeze to death if we don't get you up off this beach to someplace warm. Think you can walk?"

The kid just looked at his outstretched hand for a moment. Trucker felt a profound relief when he felt the kid's trembling hand slide into his own. He pulled the kid up then caught him as he pitched forward, his legs unable to support him.

"Ok," Trucker said, looping an arm under him, "I've got you. My van's just over there," he pointed. "Think you can help me get you there?"

He dipped his head in agreement. Reality proved trickier. Trucker nearly had to drag him there. The kid's lack of coordination bothered him for many reasons, hypothermia being the biggest. The kid wasn't shaking anymore, and that wasn't a good thing. The water was probably all of fifty degrees this time of year.

Trucker wasn't at all sure the heater in the van still worked. Though he'd intended to sleep in the van the night before, instead he'd just tucked himself into his sleeping bag with the small fire on the beach blazing outside the open van door. Now, however, he cranked it as high as it would go, and then he dug out his last clean pair of clothes…a ratty old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt reading "Beach City Grill", his sub shop's logo.

"Put these on," he told the kid. "I'll wait outside."

Waiting for the kid to dress, Trucker peeled out of his full body wetsuit and climbed back into the dry clothes he'd shucked earlier. When he peeked over his shoulder after what felt like enough time, his heart stuttered again at the quick glimpse of skin he caught just before the sweatshirt slid down over the kid's front. Bruises. Dark, angry bruises that he doubted came from the suicidal dive from the cliffs. Trucker sighed and climbed back into the van.

With some relief, Trucker noticed the kid was back to shaking. "Get in the sleeping bag," he pointed. The kid's eyes flicked over to it dubiously. "Or freeze your ass off," he shrugged, smirking. "Your choice."

Warily, he peeled back the top layer of the sleeping bag and stuck one foot inside. As soon as the other followed, Trucker reached over and zipped him in. The kid's shaking bumped up a notch until his teeth chattered. "You'll be okay in a couple minutes," Trucker told him.

They just watched each other, the old hippie and the messed up kid.

"I'm Trucker," he offered finally, as the kid's shaking began to subside. Trucker waited patiently, but the kid didn't offer up anything. "What should I call you?" For a minute, Trucker thought he'd fallen asleep. His eyes were closed, and he was still except for the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping bag.

"Priestly," he said softly, his eyes still closed.

Trucker nodded. "Good to meet you, Priestly." Watching Priestly, he considered what to do next. He couldn't very well dump the kid off and head back to California, what with him being suicidal. He wasn't sure taking him along wouldn't land him in jail on a kidnapping-across-state-lines charge, though.

Guess he'd have to risk that second night on the beach, after all.

* * *

The kid–Priestly–had been shuffling around in the sand, staring up at the cliff and then pacing in little circles for about a half hour. Trucker just watched him, fully prepared to spring up and wrestle him to the sand if he looked like he might try another cliff dive. Priestly had become predictable in the last few minutes, so it was easy for him to shut his eyes and pretend to be asleep whenever the kid glanced toward him where he lay on an old ratty blanket next to the campfire. He'd left the kid in the van in the sleeping bag all night, but Trucker's radar, the thing that kept him alive through his dark years, woke him up to the quiet movements of a restless Priestly.

When the kid started off in the direction of the cliffs, Trucker eased to his feet and began slowly ambling after him. With the roar of the tide, Priestly didn't hear him back there, and he didn't look back, just strode with his fists in the pockets of Trucker's jeans, head bent down against the cold breeze. Other than the temperature, it wasn't a bad morning for a walk, so Trucker said nothing. He just shadowed Priestly, still wondering if he'd try again.

It seemed he might as the beach began to rise up, rocks showing here and there under piles of sand drifts. Trucker continued to follow, wondering how much further he should let the kid climb before saying something. About halfway up the rise, he called out,

"You aren't thinking about jumping again, are you, kid?"

Priestly jumped about a foot in the air and glanced back at him, dipping his head. "Ah," he coughed, looking at the ground. He shook his head. "No," he answered softly.

"Then why are we returning to the scene of the crime?" Trucker asked calmly, following again as Priestly continued climbing. Priestly stopped, scrubbing the back of his head with one hand, eyes darting and mouth working a couple of times as if he was trying out answers.

Looking vaguely embarrassed now, Priestly glanced his way again, only meeting his eyes for a second before staring up at the top of the cliff. "Just thought I should see if any of my stuff is still there."

Trucker smiled. That was a good sign. What he'd thrown away yesterday was today what he hoped to recover. If he were intent on trying again, he wouldn't be searching for his discarded belongings. "Let me help you," he said. Priestly didn't answer. He just went back to climbing.

* * *

With Trucker's help, Priestly found the two pairs of boxers, the fold-up poncho, the pair of jeans, the three t-shirts, a couple handfuls of change, and even some of the many crumpled bills that had been trapped underneath the clothes. The rest of it was gone, of course, but it was less than a hundred bucks worth, anyway. All of the jerky was there, too, but he just grimaced at it and left it there. Glancing at Trucker with what he hoped was a _Don't ask_ sort of look, Priestly mumbled,

"That's it."

They carried the stuff down the beach again in silence. Priestly wasn't sure exactly why he followed Trucker, but it wasn't like he knew where he should go next. He hadn't planned on walking anywhere ever again. Not that he was sorry. That whole thing…that was stupid, and it was done. That was the rock bottom they talked about, he figured. From here there had to be an up.

Priestly wondered if Trucker would begin to ask questions, and when he didn't, Priestly was torn between relief and disbelief. He wasn't sure he was ready to talk, anyway, though he figured he owed Trucker the explanation.

Back at the old VW bus, he wasn't sure what to do. He wished he hadn't lost his backpack in the ocean. How was he going to carry the stuff around now? Of course, once he gave Trucker his clothes back, he'd probably have to put on every piece of clothing he had just to stay warm, given that he was already freezing in the borrowed jeans and sweatshirt. After that, it was just the money and the rain poncho. No sweat.

"Can you give me a hand here?"

His head shot up at the sound of Trucker's voice. He looked up at the old surfer-hippie's weather-lined face and the gentle, laughing eyes. He was shaking off the frayed, once-red-but-now-pink blanket he'd slept on. Priestly caught one corner as it flapped his way on the breeze and found the other corner, dropping the clothes he was holding to help Trucker fold. Priestly was left holding the blanket as Trucker used a pail to scoop up sand, which he dumped on the already dying fire until it was completely smothered.

Feeling awkward, Priestly tossed the folded blanket into the VW and scooped up his clothes from the sand along with the items Trucker had carried.

"You hungry?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there holding his stuff and wondering what the hell to do. He didn't want to feel like this, like he was some lost puppy trailing after the first person who was nice to him.

"Priestly," Trucker said, watching him carefully, "it's not a trick question." He met Trucker's eyes for a millisecond, which was all he could stand. Kicking the sand a little, he just nodded. But Trucker made it easy after all. He just headed for the driver's seat and called over his shoulder, "I'll drive, you take shotgun." Priestly shook his head. _Of course you'll drive. It's your van._

* * *

**_A/N: My intent is to have each chapter title be a song title, but we'll see if that works out. ;p _**


	2. Riot on the Rooftops

Trucker waited until Priestly finished eating to even look at the bill the waitress dropped off. He didn't want to spook the kid or make him lose his appetite. But the fact was, he had to get on the road today because he only had coverage at the shop through Monday. If he wasn't back on Tuesday, there'd be no one to open the place. Given that it was Saturday now, he'd have to drive about 885 miles each day to make it there in time. Sort of cut down on his plans to take his time and poke around some places a little.

"So, Priestly, I've got to get back on the road now, but I need to know what your deal is first." Trucker's gaze was patient, but Priestly looked at him warily. "I mean, is there someplace I can drop you? Where are you from?"

He sucked the last of his soda down and then sighed. "Latimer." When Trucker just looked at him, he added, "Near Biloxi, Mississippi."

"Doesn't sound like you really want to go back there."

He shook his head.

"How old are you, Priestly?"

"Nineteen."

Trucker sighed. "Man, I'm not an establishment sort of guy, if you know what I mean, but here's the deal. I'm picking up that you don't really have any place to be, am I right?"

Priestly nodded after a moment's hesitation.

"Well, look. If you want a change of scenery, you're welcome to ride along until the road stops. But since I don't want to end up behind bars, I'm going to need to see your driver's license to make sure I don't wind up with some bogus charge for taking a minor across state lines."

Priestly grinned a little at that, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. He fished his Mississippi driver's license out, going a little red as he realized Trucker would see his name. His full name. And, for that matter, he'd see the all-American, boy-next-door-serial-killer version of Priestly, the person he never intended to be again. But if Trucker paid any attention to his name, he didn't let on. Just glanced at it, presumably for his birthday, and handed it back.

"Okay, then. I'll take the first shift, and when I get tired you can drive. Cool?"

Priestly nodded.

* * *

Trucker was not a man for much talking. He turned on NPR, though, and they listened. Priestly watched the world fly past from the passenger side. Until he hitched to Florida, he'd never been outside Mississippi except one time when they flew to Ohio to see his Grandmother before she died. He hadn't really known her very well. He'd been twelve years old when she died, and from the time he was born until then she was just a loving voice on the phone and letters written by a shaky hand.

After a while, scenery was no longer a thrill. Priestly stared out the window but stopped seeing anything outside it. Instead, he remembered.

_Church, 10:00 a.m._

_ Priestly sighed. As if he didn't know when the service started. He'd only been going every Sunday since birth, unless he was running a fever, vomiting, or in danger of crapping his pants. Still his father insisted on leaving the note behind on the kitchen counter. His father left early to prepare each week, and his mother ran the morning kitchen and handled other various tasks. They allowed him the privilege of arranging for his own transportation, usually the bus or his bicycle if he couldn't catch a ride with a neighbor. He'd once lied and said he overslept when really he'd gone to the mall with some friends from school, a couple of skateboarders his folks didn't approve of. He didn't know whether his father had found out somehow or whether he just didn't buy the story, but Priestly had been forced to attend every service offered that week…a total of twelve services, all with mostly the same sermon. Since it was summer and school was out, it had been like torture. He'd never tried to get out of church again, not even once he'd turned eighteen. His father told him until he moved out into his own place he would attend church every week. Given that his father was a firm believer in "spare the rod, spoil the child", he obeyed._

_ It was the morning of the time change, and he forgot and showed up an hour early which sucked royal donkey ass because the place was locked until 15 minutes before the first service which was at 8 a.m. It didn't matter to his father which service he attended as long as he showed up and sat in the first pew where his father could find him. Though it was earlier than he generally wanted to be out of bed, he also much preferred having the rest of his Sunday to goof off. _

_ He went to the side door and knocked, hoping his father's secretary, Ruby, would be within earshot. She was, thankfully. She closed herself back in his father's front office again. He wondered what to do and then decided to just go to the congregation hall and see if the piano was free. It was one thing his father forced on him that he really didn't mind. He was pretty good at it, too._

_ His father's office was clear at the back of a winding maze of rooms. Some were offices, such as for the deacons and the choir director. Others were storage. As he passed Deacon Bennett's office, he heard a muffled sound. He stopped. It sounded like… _

_ He froze. It sounded like someone was pleading. Crying, even. He listened hard. Definitely crying. High pitched _female _crying. But it wasn't just crying. It was…fear. That was what made him turn the knob. People crying in a church wasn't all that extraordinary. But people sounding afraid…people crying the words "Please stop it, I don't want to!"…_that_ was not normal anywhere._

_ He burst in, horrified at what he discovered. He hadn't really known what to expect, but it wasn't Deacon Bennett with his arm clamped around Priestly's next door neighbor's youngest girl's waist with his other hand up under the skirt of her best Sunday dress. The deacon clearly wasn't expecting anyone to just barge into his office, for the shock of it caused him to loosen his grip on the red faced, tear-streaked girl who darted behind Priestly, sobbing wildly._

_ "Go on, Holly," he croaked as Bennett jumped to his feet. "Run!"_

_ Without any consideration, Priestly jumped on the guy. Deacon Bennett was about six foot three and a former linebacker on his college football team. It didn't take much for him to swat Priestly down like a nuisance fly, but Priestly was so furious and so horrified that he just charged the guy again, screaming for his father._

_ "DAD!" _

_ His father was a lot of things, sure, and since Priestly had turned 13 they'd been at odds over every damn thing under the sun, but he never expected what came next. Never. After his father pulled him away from Deacon Bennett, Priestly shouted the whole story, still trying to get at Bennett to wipe the fucking smirk off his face. The man was smiling! Smiling! _

_ Priestly felt vindicated as his father frowned. Ezekiel Nehemiah Priestly was a strict man who lived the word of God as he interpreted it. Over the years, he'd refused many of Priestly's innocent desires. Things like being allowed to wear anything cool or to do anything outside of school with anyone who didn't attend his church. He couldn't listen to most of the music his friends liked because of bad words or bad themes or bad suggestions, and forget about ever going to the movies since the only ones he was allowed to see were doofy family ones with dogs and dolphins and junk like that. He wasn't allowed to go to school dances, buy a skateboard, or play any rock and roll songs on the piano or the stereo. Whenever his father caught him swearing, which was more and more often as the years went by, he was forced to give his meager allowance to the poor and to eat a piece of black licorice, which his father knew he hated. Oh, and don't forget the stinging slap across the face he received each time, too._

_ "Son, go to my office."_

_ He looked up at his father's stern face and realized it had probably not been the first time he'd been told. Priestly nodded. Good. His father would take care of it. Bennett would be walked out in handcuffs in a matter of minutes. His father, who grounded him for a month after he caught Priestly French kissing Miranda Stewart at a high school football game, would no doubt bring hellfire and brimstone to old Bennett. For the first time in several years, Priestly was glad for his father's strict, harsh demeanor._

_ Priestly couldn't resist. He lingered just outside the door, waiting for his father to go apeshit on Bennett._

_ "Dale, I don't know what Priestly thought he saw, but I'm sorry. Did he hurt you?"_

_ What? Priestly's jaw dropped open. Blinding fury stung his eyes with tears. WHAT? He thought of Holly's tear-streaked face and his stomach filled with a slick, sour, icy ball as he suddenly wondered if there were others and whether his father was really, really just going to look the other way. This wasn't something anyone would make up. And if his father was honest with himself, no matter what crimes his father imagined, no matter what rebellious behavior he'd punished over the years, Priestly had never been a liar. You didn't mistake a man's hand up someone's dress. You didn't mistake tearful begging. What Priestly _thought _he saw was what there WAS to see…a grown man putting his hands on a little girl in a way no adult ever should._

_ Bennett's laughter made him dizzy with fear and disgust. "Zeke, the day a kid that size hurts me, I'll be ready for my place in the old folk's home. I don't know how he got that idea, but he sure was riled up." After a few minutes of murmuring he couldn't make out, Bennett chuckled. "Go easy on him, Zeke. He's a good kid with good intentions. He just got mixed up there, I'm sure. If it was my daughter, you can bet I'd have done the same thing, even if it was a fight I couldn't win."  
Priestly wandered out of the church in a daze, wondering where Holly was, if she was alright. She had to be all of, what, twelve? Something like that. His mother had baked her birthday cake not too long ago because Holly's mother was sick with the flu. She'd sent him to the store for candles after realizing she didn't have any. There'd been a dozen to the box, and she'd used all of them. So, yeah. Twelve. Fucking twelve. _

_He didn't come back for the service. His father sentenced him to the evening service, but he didn't plan go to that, either. He walked to the bus stop and took the cross town to the sheriff's office. He told Sheriff Donovan what he'd heard, what he'd seen, and the fact that his father didn't believe him. Fortunately for him, Sheriff Donovan was not a churchgoer. He wasn't under Ezekiel Priestly's iron rule. He talked to Holly's parents, the Mirandas, he talked to Holly, and then he talked to Deacon Bennett about his own Mirandas as he loaded him into the back of his black and white in front of the entire Sunday congregation. Priestly was immensely glad his father had forced him out of his room and towered over him until he dressed for the same evening service he'd had no intention of attending. Otherwise, he'd have missed the whole thing._

_ Immediately after Deacon Bennett was paraded out in handcuffs, Priestly stood up, squarely catching his father's eye. His father never missed a beat of his sermon, of course, but Priestly knew he'd made his point. He walked out of the church before the sermon was over for the second time that day. He'd gone down to the local army surplus store and he'd spent his Christmas money (over $300.00) on clothes his father would refuse to let him wear. The combat boots. The snarky, sarcastic, and irreverent t-shirts. The studded bracelet. He'd wandered into a Rite Aid for a bottle of Coke and added a stick of black eyeliner._

_The next morning, instead of going to his classes at the local community college, he withdrew himself and sold his books back to the bookstore. Because he'd been given cash by his father for his registration fees and other school supplies, he took the entire windfall plus half of the $1,850 earned over the last year doing odd jobs like mowing lawns, walking dogs, and painting fences and houses and opened a bank account with it. He packed a backpack with the new clothes and put some of them on. Then he tossed the pack on the floor of his bedroom closet, took a bus to Biloxi, and spent the rest of the afternoon putting in job applications and looking around at studio apartments and rooms for rent. He didn't care if he had to sleep on the bare floor for a month and eat nothing but Ramen. Or he could pitch a tent in a campground and live like a drifter, if he couldn't find a place._

_ Priestly caught a bus back to Latimer in the late afternoon. He was nearly limping as he climbed the porch steps at his house. He was so tired he didn't notice the shadowy figure that waited, but he jumped as it reached out and snatched him by the shoulder._

Priestly jumped, shoving away the hand that gripped his bicep.

"Whoa, kid, it's just me," Trucker said, lifting both his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

He squinted in the bright light of day. Overcast though it was, it was brighter than the world behind his eyelids. He must have fallen asleep. He must've drifted from memory into dreams. It had been so real…more a replay of what actually happened than a dream. He swallowed hard. It was just Trucker. Trucker wasn't going to hurt him.

* * *

_**A/N: Chapter titles won't make sense unless you know the songs, by the way. ;p There is no Riot, there are no rooftops. **_


	3. We're Not Gonna Take it

Trucker wasn't sure just when Priestly had dozed off, he'd been so intent on the discussion on the radio. But he'd slowly become aware of the kid's fitful twitching and the soft noises of distress he made in his sleep. He'd never seen anyone make faces in their sleep, but Priestly had. He'd clenched his jaw, breathing heavily until he was nearly snorting. And then his mouth started to work like he wanted to scream something at someone. He'd slurred something unintelligible, so tensed up and breathing so funny Trucker worried he might start to hyperventilate. So he'd reached out and shook the kid's shoulder to wake him up, easing off onto the shoulder of the road.

Priestly jerked violently awake, flailing wildly. Trucker held his hands up near his chest.

"Whoa, kid, it's just me," he offered, ducking his head a little to catch Priestly's wild, panicked eyes.

Squinting in the brightness of the early afternoon, Priestly gulped loudly and then dropped his head back against the headrest, panting. Not knowing what to say or if he should say anything at all, Trucker just watched him for a moment before easing back onto the road. He didn't miss how Priestly's hands shook as he slid them up over his face as though washing it and then slid up into his hair.

Trucker pushed in one of the buttons on the radio and found _Ina Gadda da Vida_ on a station that played mostly old surfing and psychedelic music. Hard to be anything but mellow listening to the likes of that stuff. Priestly breathed a laugh and rolled down the window. But he didn't close his eyes again.

* * *

Bennett waited on his parents' porch for him, knowing his folks would still be wrapping up another day's work at the church. After dragging him out behind his own house so as not to alert the neighbors, the man had given Priestly the beating of his life. And when he'd expressed disbelief about Bennett being there at all instead of in jail, Bennett just laughed, buried his foot in Priestly's guts and sneered,

"Your daddy himself paid my bail." But the beating, according to Bennett's slurred words, was because he was prohibited from working with or around minor children until the outcome of his trial, so he'd been suspended without pay.

Priestly woke up in the grass in his own backyard, hurting viciously and damp from the sprinklers his father set to come on at dusk every other night. He eased to his feet, moaning and hunched over his aching ribs, dizzy with pain. The porch light was on, and it hadn't been when Bennett started in on him. The ache magnified as he passed his father, who was stationed, as usual, in his easy chair reading the daily paper. As usual, he didn't look up as his son walked by, even though this time his son more hobbled and shuffled than walked.

He just wanted to fall back on his bed and die, the kind of pain he was in. He wasn't exactly what you could call a badass. Smart kids who got straight A's and studied piano and had read the entire Holy Bible by age thirteen seldom knew anything useful about fighting. He'd taken his father's hits before, but his father's hands were open. Hard slaps and smacks and the occasional shove, sure. But never fists and feet. He'd never taken anything like what Bennett dished out, and he never wanted to again.

He washed up in the hall bath, stuffing cotton balls up his nose while trying to ignore the fact that it felt like shoving lit matches in his nostrils. They wouldn't stop oozing blood. More blood caked from his lower lip down his chin and the left corner of his mouth and from the outer corner of his right eyebrow down his temple where the deacon's college championship ring had cut him. Whether or not he'd wanted to, Priestly had turned the other cheek and Bennett had obligingly smashed him in it.

In the end, though he felt sick spending another night in the house of a man who could so easily stand by and support a fucking kiddie-diddler like Bennett, Priestly crawled into bed and slept dreamlessly until nearly dawn. If his parents noticed his absence at dinner or cared, there was no sign of it. In the grayish pre-dawn light, he dressed. He double checked the items in his backpack, added a couple pairs of boxers as an afterthought, and eased out into the silence of the hallway. He wondered whether he should at least leave a note for his mother. She hadn't done anything wrong that he knew of, unless you counted looking the other way when his father smacked him around in the name of righteousness and parental authority. But in the end, he just walked on out, closing the front door behind him softly.

* * *

Trucker worried about the kid sleeping so much, about what it meant. He wondered if the kid had taken in too much water, if he was going to come down with pneumonia. But at least this time he was just sleeping and not dreaming. Or not having a nightmare, anyway. Again he wondered about the events of the last 24 hours, about what it was that had the kid jumping off a cliff. It would keep. Someday maybe Priestly would trust him enough to tell him. He could only hope there was a someday, that the ghosts that haunted him wouldn't keep trying to convince him to join them.

Trucker had come close to that edge himself once, except instead of asking the ocean for a push as Priestly had done, the ocean had been the thing that saved him…that and the surfers who'd taken him under their wing during that first dark summer. They took him in and reintroduced him to his soul somewhere amidst the wind and the waves. He didn't know what was worth sticking around for, not from Priestly's perspective, but he hoped he could help Priestly find it. He tried every day to do something to better the world, which was what he'd long ago decided was the only way he could ever hope to repay Leo, Mike, Butch, and Goram for saving his life.

He hit the turn signal and pulled the bus off the highway and into the parking lot of a truck stop. The cessation of motion roused Priestly before Trucker could reach over to shake him. He lifted his head from the window and yawned. He was opening the door as Trucker said,

"Let's stretch our legs and get something to eat."

The place was a "seat yourself" type of establishment. Trucker watched Priestly's eyes rove over the place and waited to see if he had a preference. With little hesitation, he chose the front window. A people watcher, Trucker discovered after they ordered and were waiting for their meals. Also a people watcher, Trucker was content to just watch, too.

"So, how long have you had the Causemobile?" Priestly's voice was like a magnet that pulled his eyes from away from the window across the table.

Trucker smiled, amused. "The Causemobile?" He breathed a laugh. Priestly shrugged and gestured toward it.

"You know, the million stickers," he explained. "Causes. Political statements."

"Yeah, I get it," Trucker nodded, chuckling. Then he sighed and thought back, trying to count the years. "Long time," he said finally. "Since I was about twenty-seven, I guess."

Priestly nodded. "Cool."

"What's with the Mohawk?" Trucker ventured, gesturing to the wild hairstyle Priestly had applied after breakfast that morning, at a different truck stop. It explained the funky green streaks on the kid's face when Trucker pulled him out of the water. After a few long moments of silence Trucker realized his question had been a mistake. It shut Priestly down. His green eyes turned muddy and he looked back out the window.

"Just a 'fuck you' to everyone back home, I guess," he finally croaked, turning his head and smiling half-heartedly at the waitress as she plopped their plates in front of them. "Looks great," he offered. She just gave him a look, clearly nonplussed by his appearance.

Trucker nodded. He didn't ask anything else. They both just turned their eyes back out the window and ate with nothing but the scritching of forks and knives on plates to cover the silence.

When they left the truck stop, Trucker held out the keys to the van now christened the Causemobile and raised his eyebrows. Priestly broke into a grin. "Hell, yeah," he said, swiping them out of Trucker's hand.

The engine sputtered to life, and Trucker exhaled. It was always a miracle when the engine turned over, always just a matter of time before he'd have to completely overhaul the thing. He could have driven his car on this trip, but he'd taken a chance on the bus because he loved it and could live out of it at a campground or on a beach, which he preferred to motels. Priestly tested the seat's position against the pedals and left it as is. Flicking the strawberry shaped pendant with the bright yellow lightning bolt in the center that hung from the rearview mirror on a black necklace cord, Priestly asked,

"What's this thing all about?" he asked, smirking at it.

Trucker turned his head toward the window with a frown. "That is a story for another day."

Priestly's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. He just clanked the van into reverse, backed it out, and asked,

"Where are we going?"

"Just stay on the I-10," Trucker said, rolling his window down. It looked like rain but it wasn't raining yet, so he was going to get all the fresh air he could. He suddenly needed it.

* * *

Priestly loved driving. From the first time his father took him out in their tidy, old Chrysler, he'd loved it. Latimer was small, and he began with old farm roads before graduating up to the regular streets with its minor rush hour traffic that his father said was nothing like the bigger cities. Mostly, though, he'd loved the open road…getting out on the highway like he was now.

Somewhere along the way without his noticing, Trucker had turned off the radio. Priestly turned it back on now with a flick of his wrist. He immediately wished he hadn't as The Byrds' _Turn! Turn! Turn! _crackled over the old radio. Priestly hastily stabbed one of the station buttons and something deep and growly with lots of drums and guitar took its place. Trucker flicked a glance his way.

"Driver picks the station?" Priestly suggested, lifting his brows.

After a long silence, Trucker relented. "Yeah, that's fair. Just not so loud. My ears are about to start bleeding," he joked with a wry grin.

"If it's too loud, you're too old," Priestly smirked. But he let Trucker twist the volume knob to a place he could tolerate. It was his van, after all.

Hours later, after watching the needle on the gas gauge creep toward 'E' for the last several miles of nothing, Priestly swung into the first gas station he found, which was just east of Beaumont, Texas. Trucker disappeared right away toward the john, and Priestly hurried to start the gas pump. It was the least he could do, he figured. How exactly did you pay someone back for saving a life you hadn't known you still wanted to live? A tank of gas would hardly begin, but Priestly figured he'd start there and figure out the rest later.

It looked like it would rain any second. Priestly didn't mind rain, really, but he was a little tired of the gloom that had covered the sky for pretty much the entire last week. Sort of like the visual equivalent of a soundtrack to accompany all of the crap he'd been feeling since he left Latimer. He wanted the sun back. Heat.

Priestly caught sight of Trucker over by the side of the little station, picking up the handset on a payphone. He hadn't seen one in so long he didn't realize they still existed. Priestly wished he had known Trucker wanted to make a call. He'd have handed him his cell phone. Not that it would work out here in the middle of nowhere, anyway, actually. Finishing with the gas, Priestly thrust the nozzle back into the cradle, capped off the Causemobile's tank and headed off to the restrooms.


	4. My Best Friend

They slept over in a motel in Houston. From the outside, the place looked decent enough, but what they got was a little room with two beds, a TV that barely worked, and a shower that refused to offer up any hot water at all. When Trucker finished dressing and came out of the little bathroom, he pulled the towel from his head just in time to see Priestly scramble to toss the Holy Bible back in the bedside drawer. Just seconds before, his fingers had been tracing the cover idly.

"Nothing wrong with checking out the good word," Trucker said lightly.

Priestly rolled his eyes and snorted, rising from his bed as Trucker hoisted his duffle onto the one he'd slept in and looked around the room. He didn't offer up any further response, just checked out his Mohawk in the mirror and flashed a grin at himself. "Let's get this show on the road," he said, grabbing his backpack and turning toward the door.

Trucker caught sight of his t-shirt as he unlocked the door. _You Don't Know Me, _it read across the back. _Federal Witness Protection Program. _ Trucker was starting to wonder about the kid, about his secretiveness. His anger. But mostly, he wondered about the tenderness he kept catching glimpses of. Like the way he'd fed and stroked and murmured lovingly to the emaciated dog he'd found wandering at the last gas station or the crumpled bills he'd gently tucked into the hand of a grizzled old man hunched on the pavement outside the same building. He always rushed to open a door for a lady or an elderly person, and any time a little kid looked at him in wonder–they couldn't help but stare at a bright green Mohawk–Priestly just grinned back instead of getting angry. Yet he tossed the Bible into the drawer so fast you'd think the book had burned his fingers. An enigma wrapped in a mystery, as the saying went.

Trucker glanced at Priestly as he shouldered the backpack he'd bought the night before at the thrift store next to their motel. "Do you want to drive?"

Priestly shook his head. "Still waking up," he yawned. "Okay if I get the late shift?"

"No problemo," Trucker agreed.

* * *

"Do you mind if we make a stop?" Trucker asked about an hour after they'd stopped for gas in Big Lake, Texas.

"Nope," Priestly agreed. He didn't tell Trucker he didn't have to ask permission to do whatever the hell he pleased with his own van because he knew it wouldn't stop the easy-going surfer from asking. Trucker insisted upon asking. Priestly figured if he actually said no to something Trucker wanted, he'd just accept it. But from Priestly's point of view, he had no say in the matter. He was just a refugee, after all. In his mind, Trucker could do whatever the hell he wanted because if Priestly hadn't been along for the ride, Trucker would be free to do just that.

A couple exits later, Trucker pulled off the I-10 just as a few fat raindrops began squeezing out from the sky. He was sick of the gloominess, but maybe if it just rained like crazy the clouds would finally part or blow away or something. Priestly was halfway starting to believe the sun didn't exist anymore, and it made him feel as bleak as the world around him.

Priestly wondered, not for the first time, what was happening in Latimer. Did they even care that he was gone? Holly probably did. She'd shyly thanked him over the picket fence that separated their front lawns that last Sunday night that he was in town. He'd just looked at his feet and nodded, feeling awkward. He was glad he'd helped her, but even though she obviously knew what he'd seen, he felt like some kind of peeping Tom catching that whole freak show. He'd watched her turn at the sound of her mother's voice behind her. He'd managed to catch her eyes again before she slowly backed away toward her front porch.

He thought again about his father. Strict and largely intolerant of anything Priestly wanted to do or try, Ezekiel headed up their family like he was still in the marines or something. His father had served for twelve years, catching the last three years of Vietnam, which he refused to talk about even when Priestly asked for help with homework. He'd ended his time in service in Beirut, which Priestly had read about in books also since his father wouldn't talk about that, either. Priestly knew from what he'd read that the marines barracks had been destroyed by a suicide bomber driving a truck full of TNT. His father was clearly lucky to have escaped with his life. He didn't need to be told that Ezekiel had probably lost a great many people he'd served beside and cared about.

According to his mother, Ezekiel was not a terribly religious man until he entered the service. Immediately after he was discharged and returned home, Ezekiel enrolled in a seminary college. Before graduating, he met Priestly's mother and married her. Just after earning his Master's degree, his mother announced she was pregnant. His father was older when Priestly was born. It was his mother's excuse for every 'no'. Your father tries hard, but he doesn't remember what it was like to be your age, honey. He just wants what's best for you. He loves you, he just doesn't know how to show it.

No matter how strict his father was, no matter how unreasonable and unyielding he could be, Priestly still couldn't fathom how it was that his father could think that he misinterpreted what he'd seen. So that just left one thing. Tolerance. His father letting Bennett's behavior slide like that…he couldn't understand it. He could live a hundred years, but he'd never forget the twisting feeling in his chest as he realized his father was just going to let it happen, that he wasn't going to crush Bennett with his iron fist. He was going to take the side of a freaking pervert over his own son.

You could tell yourself you didn't give a flying fuck about what people think of you, and when it came to most of the world that might actually be true. But Priestly knew two things after nineteen years under his father's roof: you looked up to you parents if they were any kind of decent people at all, and contrary to anything you might say out loud, you never stopped wanting your parents to be proud of you. These were the things that haunted him now…losing his hero, and losing that desire for his approval. There was no what if or maybe…his father had no reason to disbelieve what he'd been told about Bennett. Priestly had lied over the years, sure. But never about anything like that. And it wasn't like he was a continual, habitual liar. And sure, maybe he and his father battled over many things, from what he wanted to wear, where he wanted to work, who he wanted to hang out with, movies to see, music to hear, hobbies, his language, his attitude, and his plans for the future. But even with all the friction and the tension and, sometimes, the downright hatred, Priestly would never, ever have expected his father to go all "Good ol' Boy" on him. To take Bennett's word over his…he'd never understand it.

Priestly sighed heavily without thinking about it, drawing Trucker's eyes. He just shrugged and looked out the window at the rain as it picked up. Trucker turned down a street where the houses were small but situated on large lots so that there was plenty of space between neighbors. The homes looked older but well kept for the most part. Ducking his head and squinting, Trucker eased to a stop in front of a little pale yellow house with a hammock in the front yard between two huge trees. The canopies of the trees were so thick that the ground wasn't wet underneath them. If it stayed dry, Priestly thought it would be cool to swing there a while and read the book he'd picked up at one of their gas stops. One of those places where there's nothing else around for miles so they sell a little bit of everything under the sun just to survive.

A tall, lanky guy with a long grey ponytail poked his face out the screen door. Apparently liking what he saw, he burst the rest of the way out. "Trucker! Long time, no see, man!"

Trucker broke into a wide grin and the two men embraced like brothers. Priestly felt a twinge of jealousy. He'd never had a chance to make that kind of friendship. The two guys he felt closest to were a couple of his father's forced friends, church kids, and there'd always been that 'be careful or he'll rat on you to your Dad' thing just under the surface. But these two, it was obvious they'd go to hell and back for one another and that they'd keep one another's secrets.

"Well, Leo, if you'd get off your butt and make it out to California, we'd see each other more often." Trucker laughed with him. Leo looked over his shoulder at Priestly and grinned.

"You didn't go and have a kid and not tell me, did you? Or find out about a secret love child?" Leo asked, curiosity drawn obviously over his face.

"What?" Trucker smiled, turning. "No. No, this is a friend of mine. Priestly," Trucker reached an arm out and Priestly obligingly moved in closer. "this is Leo French. I call him my surfing Papa because he's the one who mostly taught me. Leo, Priestly." He gestured between them.

"Hey," Priestly said, offering his hand. Leo took it, pumping heartily.

"Let's go inside and hustle up some drinks," Leo said.

Leo's home was small but surprisingly neat. There wasn't much in the way of furnishings, but what he had was decent stuff. Surfing artwork and memorabilia scattered here and there kept it from looking like a motel room. Judging by the ancient box-style TV with its old "V" antenna and the old harvest gold phone hanging on the wall that led into the kitchen, though, the guy wasn't much for technology. When Leo pulled three Coronas out of the fridge and plopped one of them in his hand, Priestly just stared at it for a minute. Trucker slapped his shoulder and popped it open before opening his own. Leo seemed to realize his mistake.

"Sorry, Priestly. You want something else?"

Priestly lifted the bottle and took a pull. "Nope," he grinned. Trucker looked amused but just took a drink of his own.

The two men started talking about people and places that meant nothing to him, and Priestly felt intensely out of place. From his spot on the sofa, he looked out longingly at the hammock, which still seemed largely unaffected by the now pouring rain. When the men paused to drink, Priestly pointed to the door with his bottle.

"Leo, would you mind if I took a swing in your hammock?"

Leo blinked at him after glancing outside. "That's what it's there for," he said, nodding.

Priestly nodded at them and wandered outside. He got the book from his backpack quickly and then darted under the relative dryness of the trees. He'd never actually been in a hammock, but he'd seen enough cartoon slapstick to know you had to be careful how you got in or you'd end up on the ground. Priestly carefully eased in and stretched out. Awesome. It would be even better if it were just going on summer, not too humid or hot, but warm enough that he didn't need to wear the army field jacket he'd picked up in Houston after freezing for most of the drive. Priestly took another swig of the beer and tucked it between his legs. Then he found the folded corner that marked his place and let the real world fall away.

* * *

"So," Leo asked, glancing out at the kid with the wild hair. "What's the story on the kid?"

Trucker, too, glanced out and watched as Priestly absently scratched his forehead, then reached down for the bottle propped between his legs. He looked back at Leo's grey eyes. "Pulled him out of the Gulf a couple days ago. Put on a backpack loaded with rocks and took a header off the cliffs near Perdido Key." Priestly admitted as much when Trucker caught him buying the backpack.

"No kiddin'?" Leo's eyes went wide.

Trucker shook his head. "Other than that, I'm not sure. He won't talk much about it. I asked him about his hair and he said it was a 'fuck you to everyone back home'. And he's got some pretty serious bruises," Trucker gestured up and down his own chest and belly. "So I'm guessing he had enough abuse and said when. But that's all just a theory for now, 'cause he's not talking."

"Gonna teach him to surf?"

Trucker looked up at his friend. Leo knew exactly what surfing had done for him and naturally figured it could do the same for anyone. He smirked. "If he's interested."

"So, what, now…you're just hauling him to Santa Cruz from Florida? Ain't anyone worried about him?"

Trucker shrugged. "Don't know. But he's an adult, so I guess it's none of anyone's business but his."

"You gonna have him work in the grill?"

"Up to him," Trucker replied. "He seems to have a little money. He keeps topping off the gas in the van before I can beat him to it, and he's picked up a couple other things along the way. He could be a trust fund baby for all I know right now. We'll figure it out when we get to Santa Cruz, I guess. He can bunk with me for a while, if he needs to."

They gradually moved away from the topic of Priestly, the mystery kid, and exchanged surf stories and other tales. Trucker talked about the grill, and Leo talked about the various odd jobs he worked when he could. Trucker asked, as always, when he was going to come back to California.

"Well, Dad's hanging on, and so I'm hanging on until he goes to the Spirit in the Sky." Leo gestured toward the ceiling with a sad smile.

"You need anything?"

Leo grinned for real this time. "No, I'm good. Quit worrying, Truck. You're as bad as Goram and Butch." Leo wasn't destitute by any means, but spending three years in Texas looking after his father's interests had started to put a mild strain on his own.

Leo rose. "Want another beer?"

Trucker looked up. "Better not. I don't know if the kid can handle his liquor, so I guess I'm driving."

"You don't have to take off right now, do you?"

Trucker craned his head to check the old schoolroom clock on Leo's kitchen wall and sighed. "Actually, I do. I stayed an extra night in Florida wondering what to do about the kid. There's no one to open the grill if I'm not back by Tuesday."

Leo shook his head. "Can't say I'm not bummed to see you go so soon, brother, but you had to do what you had to do."

Trucker clapped Leo on the back, followed him to the kitchen, and dropped his empty beer bottle in the blue recycle bin he knew Leo had added to the household. It was his father's place, and Leo'd been slowly donating, discarding, and generally sorting out 85 years worth of…life. Trucker thought of his own parents, both dead for many years now, and felt for his friend. He'd been down the same road twice before, and he'd meant it when he'd asked if he needed anything. "I'll try to make it back out this way again soon if you can't make it to Santa Cruz," he promised.

Leo nodded and followed him out the front door.

Trucker looked over at the hammock. Priestly was asleep, the book on his chest, one hand holding it down as the hammock swayed in the breeze. He shook his head. "Did we sleep all the time when we were kids?" He asked Leo, still uncertain about whether or not to be worried. Then again, they'd left the hotel at just after five in the morning. That could certainly account for his napping.

"Hell, yeah. Sleeping, sex, slop and surfing. The four necessities of life!"

Trucker gave Priestly a gentle push with his sneaker and the hammock swung widely. The green Mohawk tipped up and Priestly blinked at him, yawning. "Time to go," he said, offering a hand.

Priestly swung his feet to the ground and caught the book as it slid down his chest. "What time is it?"

"Almost four," Trucker answered. "We need to make it to Tucson before we can stop. That puts us around midnight."

Priestly winced. "Okay."


	5. Chain of Love

One thing he was discovering being on his own was that he was definitely more of a night person. Priestly felt perfectly alert as Trucker dozed, arms crossed over his chest, his body shifted in the seat so his head could rest against the passenger window. Tucson, huh? Still 214 miles, according to the sign he just passed. Which made about another three and a half hours of driving, give or take.

Priestly wondered where exactly they were going. When he'd asked before, Trucker had just said to stay on the I-10, so they were still on the I-10. Because Trucker had said he could ride along until the road stopped, Priestly figured that meant California. He'd never been there, either. Until a few days ago, he'd only seen the ocean from Biloxi, and technically, according to what he'd learned in school, that was an ocean basin, not an ocean. Big diff. It was salty and it was watery and it _looked _like an ocean.

He wondered if he'd like California. All he knew of it was what he'd seen on television or in movies. Given his limited range of both, he wasn't sure he was any closer to having any idea of it whatsoever. One thing he knew about California was that it was more progressive than Latimer. Night and day, really. Priestly looked forward to that for sure. He was still afraid of all the freedom, if he was honest with himself. But he was warming to the idea.

One thing he still worried about was how expensive California was. You heard about it all the time, people moving away to other states because they just couldn't afford to live there. What were the chances for a nineteen year–old with no job skills? He'd have to go back to school. He wanted to, it wasn't that. He just wasn't sure what he wanted to be yet, now that his father's shadow wasn't standing over him. Not that his old man ever pressured him to go into any particular field or suggested he should go to a seminary school. Thankfully, that was one topic he'd left alone completely. But his father had disapproved of everything else he found interesting, things like broadcast communications or the culinary arts. For some reason, he'd especially disliked Priestly's interest in cooking.

Priestly grinned as he remembered how his mother had won that battle. She'd gone on strike for a week. It was the only time he could remember her defying his father in any way. You don't expect our son to ever have to fend for himself? You think he's never going to move away from us? You'd rather he shack up with a girl before marrying her just so he'll have someone to cook for him? When his father suggested he could come home for meals, even once he lived on his own, Priestly's mother threw down her dish towel and stalked right out of the kitchen and didn't come back until the following Sunday. After that, their informal cooking lessons resumed without another word. There was no arguing with a woman who claimed she was just preparing her son to live in the real world. Though when it came to laundry, ironing, and all the other household chores he'd been forced to learn, he sort of wished there had been.

Priestly frowned and leaned forward in his seat as the drizzle outside the van picked up speed. He switched on the windshield wipers. Somewhere up ahead he thought he saw hazards flashing, but they disappeared with a curve in the road. He squinted a little in the darkness. There! Definitely hazards. He turned down the radio, laughing at himself. He wondered vaguely why he thought hearing better would help him see better. That was a bit like opening your eyes wider in pitch blackness as if to see better. Never worked, but you still did it involuntarily.

Eventually, however, the road pulled the two vehicles closer to one another and things came into better focus. A beat up old Honda with a completely blown rear driver's tire sagged at the shoulder, dim light from the trunk compartment obscuring any real hope he had of seeing who the driver was. He nosed the van up behind the Honda, wondering where the hazards were located in the VW. Since he couldn't find them, he just parked the van and hoped he was far enough off the road.

Priestly didn't expect the reception he got from the Honda owner, who turned out to be a small woman with dark hair, huge dark eyes, and distrust written all over her. She backed up few steps when she heard him coming, clutching her tire iron more tightly. He threw his hands up and skittered back a few steps. "Whoa! I'm just here to see if you need help with the flat…"

When he took a tentative step forward and reached for the tire iron, she raised it up like she was going to hit him with it.

"Hey!" he said, flinching back again. "Seriously, you looked like you needed help. I guess not," he said, stepping back until he was almost next to the driver's door of the VW again.

"Who are you?" she called into the rain.

"Does it matter?" he called back.

"Maybe," she answered, now hesitant.

"I'm Priestly. And if you promise not to hit me with that thing, I can come back to help you. If you want. Up to you."

"Stay there," she said, backing up to her trunk again. Fishing something else out, a pry bar, she then held the tire iron out.

Priestly wondered for a minute why he didn't just hop back into the van and take off. Instead, he slowly edged forward until he could take the tire iron from her hand without really getting too close to her. "Do you have a name? Or should I just call you lady?"

She was in his way. He was afraid to step closer for fear he'd end up with a pry bar in his skull. Just then, it thundered and the woman glanced up at the sky as it rolled in a long, drawn out grumble. At any rate, she didn't answer him, so 'lady' it was.

"Is the parking brake on?" he asked, hoping his 'hawk wouldn't start leaking color all over him.

"No," she replied after a slight hesitation. "Should it be?"

"Unless you want to risk rolling off into the night," he agreed. Then he wished he hadn't been flip with her. She already didn't trust him, and she was holding a weapon. But she darted into the car and back out again. "Got anything heavy in the trunk to block the tires?"

"Like what?" she called over the rain from the driver's side door.

"Like bricks or chocks. Something to wedge against the good tires so the car doesn't move!"

"Go ahead and look," she told him. "But I'm watching you. If you take anything out of there besides what you need to fix the car, you'd better hope you're faster than I am!"

Priestly glanced at her nervously. Maybe offering help hadn't been such a hot idea after all. He half worried she'd clock him upside the head if he didn't move quickly enough. He didn't know what she expected him to take. She'd pushed the few contents back next to the seats to get to the spare, and the only things within his reach were a small tool kit and whatever was in the tire compartment. He found a flashlight lying on top of the tool kit and used it to take a good look at her spare. No sense in playing AAA if the spare was no good.

But it was. Priestly found chocks shoved up in the corners of the spare compartment and wondered who put them there since the lady didn't know what they were. He kicked one under each side of the front passenger tire. She watched him silently. He tried to ignore her gaze, but he could feel her eyes on him. Wary. Alert. Waiting for a false move so she could brain him with the pry bar. He shook his head and just popped off the hubcap and started loosening the lugs. He got the knees of his jeans wet as he double checked for the jack point with his hand and the flashlight before sliding the jack under. Last thing he needed to do was hurt her car. If she was this suspicious just watching him work, he couldn't imagine what she'd do if he cracked the molded plastic along the bottom of the car. He was relieved that the same person who'd put chocks in the car had also replaced the crap jack with a Milwaukee.

In a few more minutes, Priestly had the spare on and was doing the first tighten on the lugs. By the time he rolled the flat to the trunk and flopped it in, she was rounding the side of the car to watch. He reversed his steps…removing the jack, the final tightening of the lugs, kicking the chocks back out from their snug hug of the front passenger tire. He was pretty wet, and he imagined she probably was, too, since she'd stayed outside the car to watch him. Finally, everything was in the trunk except her pry bar. He stepped back when she just watched him, her eyes all but shoving him out of the way.

"Ok," he coughed. "You're all set. Just drive slowly. Don't go over fifty if you can help it, and try not to drive more than fifty miles on that thing."

She nodded, closing the trunk. "Thank you," she said. "I-I'm sorry. It's late, it's dark, it's raining, and this is a little too bad-horror-movie for my liking."

"Yeah," he grinned and spread out his arms, "but when is it ever the guy with the Mohawk?" He recalled his earlier thoughts of serial killers and boy-next-doorness. She chuckled, the first hint of a smile since he'd pulled up behind her.

"Thanks again," she said, backing away toward her driver's door. He nodded. He waited until she closed herself into her car before turning back to the Causemobile. And then he waited until she pulled slowly back onto the interstate before climbing inside.

He glanced over at Trucker. The guy was still tucked up against the door, asleep. Cranking the heat up a notch, he nosed back onto the blacktop.

* * *

Trucker felt the old bus clank into motion again. He shifted in his seat. Priestly glanced at him, then looked back at the road. Trucker grinned. The kid was something else. "Think we should follow until the next gas station?" he asked. Priestly spared him another glance and just shrugged. But Trucker noticed the kid didn't make any moves to go speeding around the car, either. "What was her deal? I thought she was going to run you off."

Priestly's brows lifted. "You saw that? Why didn't you come help?" he asked indignantly.

He shrugged. "Looked like you had it under control."

"I don't know about that. I started to wonder if she was going to lay me out," he grumbled.

"She's a woman alone. She's lucky it was you, but she doesn't know that," Trucker told him. The corner of Priestly's mouth quirked. He settled back against the seat. "You okay to make it to Tucson?"

"Yup," Priestly answered absently, poking a finger at the radio tabs as Trucker's oldies station started in on Elvis' _Peace in the Valley._ He twisted the dial to lower the volume as some sort of dark metal began oozing from the speakers.

"What is it you find so repulsive about religion?" Trucker asked sleepily, peeking up at him from under the hair flopped over his forehead.

"Probably the same thing you find repulsive about anything establishment," Priestly fired back.

"God is just an extension of the love, kid. And you know what us old hippies think. It's all about the love."

"Except when it's not," Priestly replied flatly.

Trucker gave him a look. His jaw was tight, his fingers white-knuckling the steering wheel. He let it drop. He just sat and thought about that, about religion and when it was about anything but love. Come to think of it, it seemed like that happened a lot. Ultra conservative Christian types…Hell, ultra conservative ANYTHING tended to forget about the love in favor of being right or proving a point. And where, exactly, did they always end up? Creating violence, spewing hate, pointing fingers. Maybe the kid had a point. And more importantly, Trucker realized, was the message behind Priestly's reaction. He mulled over the bruises and the anti-religion and the…the whatever it was he'd seen on Priestly's face in the motel room when he'd caught him with the Bible.

Trucker thought about it until the kid followed the Honda down an exit ramp and into a brightly lit truck stop parking lot just inside the Lordsburg, NM, town limits. When he looked over at Priestly, the kid just shrugged.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

Trucker didn't miss the long look he gave the Honda as he went inside the building. Glancing at his watch, Trucker sighed. Even if there was a tire place around anywhere, the driver was out of luck. It was almost eleven p.m. Nothing would be open until around seven the next morning. He waited, but Priestly didn't come back for so long that Trucker finally climbed out of the van just in time to see the Honda owner herd two very young children onto the curb. He thought about telling Priestly not to worry, it wasn't just him…she gave Trucker the same guarded look and took a wide berth around him where he stood by the VW as she guided the kids into the little convenience store. He followed, hoping to find the kid and get back on the road.

He found Priestly at the counter talking to the clerk. If he had to guess, the kid was asking about tire shops. Trucker fought a grin and decided he wouldn't mind a drink and went out to the van to get the huge refillable jug he kept filled for the road.

Back inside, there was no sign of the lady or her kids. Trucker figured she'd taken them to the bathroom. Priestly was no longer at the checkout. A quick scan of the store found him at the ATM. Trucker wondered what he'd found to spend his money on this time and figured he'd better warn the kid to slow down if he wanted to have anything left once they made it to Santa Cruz.

The look on Priestly's face when he saw the lady again, this time with the two kids in tow was something Trucker wished he could frame. It was like a lightbulb went off over the kid's head. He could almost hear the, "Ohhhh, now I get it!" Holding one hand up defensively and the other clutching a bottle of Coke, Priestly approached her.

Trucker stood filling his jug with lemonade since he knew the clerk would probably assume water was Sprite, anyway, and watched Priestly talk to her. He gestured, pointing this way and that. The woman's head dipped and she tucked the kids closer to her almost imperceptibly. One of them must have said something about his hair, because he crouched down and a little hand experimentally felt the bright green spikes, which seemed no worse for wear after the tire change. Unless maybe Priestly had fixed them in the john. The lady fought off a smile now as Priestly stood back up and kept talking to her. She shook her head, looking away. Priestly shook his own and held out his hand. Trucker shook his head, now, as he realized the likely intention of Priestly's latest withdrawal. Looking at the floor or possibly down at her children, the lady tucked the money into her pants pocket and then reached out her hand to him. Priestly shook it gently, gave the kids a wave, and ducked out the door.

Shaking his head again, Trucker stepped up to the counter to pay.

* * *

**a/n: Anybody out there? LOL**


	6. Eulogy

_**Disclaimer, which I keep forgetting: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

* * *

"C'mon, Priestly," Trucker was saying, "We've got to get on the road. I've got a grill to open tomorrow."

Priestly heard his voice as if through a tunnel. "Five minutes…" he mumbled. His eyelids slammed shut every time he managed to crack them open.

Trucker's chuckle was accompanied by the peeling back of his blanket. "You said that ten minutes ago. Last call, man, before the bus rolls out. You're either on it or you're not."

That had him lifting his head out from under the pillow. "C'mon," he whined. "I was up driving until after one in the morning!"

"And you can go right back to sleep in the back of the van, kid," Trucker told him. "But we've got another fourteen hours on the road ahead of us, and that's if we don't make a single stop and traffic is perfect. So go to the bathroom and get on board, or enjoy Tucson."

His tone was mild as always, but Priestly sensed irritation, nonetheless. Well, he wasn't too happy himself just now. Still, he did as Trucker suggested, right down to crawling into the van and stretching out on the backseat instead of riding shotgun. If Trucker said anything else to him, he was none the wiser.

* * *

As he drove, Trucker thought about everything he needed to do back in Santa Cruz. Laundry. Pay bills. Check on Leo's place. Get groceries. Put in the food order for the grill. He sighed. Why did it always seem like you needed another vacation to catch up from your vacation?

He was grateful to have Joe back at the grill to look after things, but the man was doing double duty working the grill and the front of the house. Trucker thought of the rest of his small crew. Sally, who worked the counter, the register, and cleared the tables was always threatening to quit and head down to Florida with her husband. She was about ten years older than Trucker but you'd never guess it. She dressed younger, looked younger and was constantly in motion. He'd miss her if she ever made good on those threats. He didn't think someone half her age would accomplish nearly what she managed to in each of her six hour shifts. There was David, the smart-ass college kid. Trucker didn't think he was going to work out. He was habitually late, which Trucker could deal with since he himself wasn't exactly known for being punctual. But the guy tended to irritate the customers, arguing with them if they had a complaint about the food or anything else. And he didn't know a damn thing about food safety even though he'd passed the food handler's test and had his handler's card. Lastly, there was Jen, the contract new hire. She'd come in for a sub and, overhearing one of Trucker's regulars teasing him about joining the 21st century and getting a webpage so he could order online, shyly offered to help him set one up. So far as he knew, she was overseeing the installation of his DSL service link and setting up the webpage for his approval. Once it was up and running, though, he was going to show David the door and offer Jen a permanent spot if she wanted it.

Maybe if he could smooth things out at the grill, keep a good team in place for more than a couple of months at a time, he could relax a little and find more time to step away from the place for a few minutes. He loved the grill and his regulars, and he loved Sally and Joe. But he wanted more time to surf and just enjoy life. But the floater kids…like David and a kid named Troy who'd quit three weeks ago, they were an essential part of the group. He could use two or three part timers he could count on.

Sally and Joe had promised to work overtime for him so he could take this trip, and that was fine in a pinch. But the grill was open between 11 a.m. and 9 p.m. six days a week. He was closed on Mondays, which was fairly normal for the smaller eateries in Santa Cruz. You couldn't give up the weekend business, what with tourists and all, so every shop that wasn't 7 days a week was closed on Mondays. The heavy hours were from opening until about 1:30 p.m. and then again between 4:30 p.m. and 7:00 p.m. The rest of the time, he could make do with just himself and the grill man. But for the heavy traffic, he needed someone on the grill, someone on the register, and ideally two people to clear tables, clean up, take orders, and pitch in on the order fulfillment.

Trucker slowed along with the morning traffic. It was Monday and he was just entering Phoenix, Arizona. Obviously, people were on their way to work. In droves. He switched the radio from NPR to the oldies station, hoping he'd find something mellow. He smiled as _California Dreamin' _poured from the speakers. He was looking forward to surfing again after going most of the week without, pulling the kid out of the Gulf notwithstanding.

That brought him back around to Priestly…what to do about the kid. How to pick his brain about what he wanted next out of his life without ticking him off. Trucker lived in Santa Cruz most of his life and knew a lot of people. He might be able to call on some of those connections. If the kid had no interest in working at the grill, Trucker might have other ideas and opportunities. Once he needed a place of his own, wheels, whatever…he couldn't promise to provide, but he could promise to put word out and then put his ear to the ground.

A pickup truck cut him off, and Trucker slammed on the brakes. He winced as he heard a thud behind him.

"Aghhhhh! Trucker! What the hell?" Priestly groused. At a standstill, Trucker turned to glance at him as he sat up, rubbing one elbow.

"Sorry," he said. "Some jerk just cut me off. You ok?"

"Yeah," Priestly said, squeezing carefully into the shotgun seat with a yawn, squinting into the brightness. He put on Trucker's spare sunglasses. "Where are we?"

"Mesa," Trucker said. "Arizona." Nothing but buildings and brown cloud as far as the eye could see.

Priestly nodded. "When can we stop for food?"

"We can't. But we can drive through."

Priestly nodded. "Cool." After a short silence, he asked, "So what's Santa Cruz like?" He'd finally asked last night exactly where they were headed.

"It's nice. Mild weather all year, great surfing, a lot of tourists, good culture, lots of sun. If you like the water and being outdoors, you'll love it."

"Sounds great. Anything except being in a car sounds great."

Trucker took a chance, given the topic of conversation. "Were you working in Mississippi? Going to school?"

Priestly glanced at him then looked out the window. "School," he replied. "Just the basics, you know, getting those out of the way first."

"Thing you'll go back once you're settled in somewhere?"

He nodded. "Probably."

"You ever had a job?"

Priestly shook his head. "Just mowing lawns and junk like that. There wasn't much in Latimer."

"How big a place was it?"

"Small. Like less than 10,000 people small."

Trucker nodded. "You ever do any volunteering?"

The kid perked up. "Yeah, sure. Habitat, and soup kitchen duty."

"Anything in there you think you might want to do? Construction? Restaurant work? Social work?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

Trucker could tell by his movements he was starting to go on the defensive. "Well, I have a little shop, the Beach City Grill. Subs," he added. "If you feel like you might want to check it out, I'm in the market for some part time help."

"Maybe," Priestly repeated, shrugging again. He kept his face turned toward the window. Trucker wondered what he was thinking but didn't ask. He figured he'd pushed the kid enough. Given how reluctant he was to talk about anything involving where he came from or who he came from, any further questions would probably just be ignored.

A moment later the witchy, mysterious notes of _Hotel California _wafted through the speakers of the van, and Priestly cracked a grin, pointing at the stereo. "That is the best song I've heard on this crap oldies station!"

Together, they listened as Trucker crept along in the stop and go of workday traffic. "Do you know what that song's about?" Trucker asked him as it ended.

"One of my high school teachers wanted to make reading comprehension interesting," Priestly said, scratching his jaw, "so he split us into groups and handed each group a song from his childhood. My group got _Hotel_."

"So? What was the translation?"

"Hung jury," Priestly answered. "Three girls in my group insisted it was about drugs. Three people thought it was about Satanism, and three people decided it was about greed and glitz and the high life."

"Which were you? Satanism or greed?" Trucker asked, amused.

Priestly shrugged. "Greed," he said.

"How do you figure?" Trucker had always thought it was about excess, too, but he was curious to see how the kid got there.

Priestly turned toward him a little in the seat as they came to a dead stop in traffic again. He counted reasons off on his fingers. "One, 'her mind is Tiffany twisted' is a direct hit on Tiffany & Company and all that other Rodeo drive type junk. Two, 'she's got the Mercedes bends' is like saying someone tried to come up for air from all the excess and just like coming up too quick from scuba diving, got the bends. Three, if you do look at the possible drug references, it still isn't a song just about drugs. You've got this whole, mock happy atmosphere...mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice, the warm smell of colitas. All of that is about the drugs and partying that went along with being so filthy rich you had nothing left to wish for so you just partied and pretended everything was fine…dancing in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget, meaning some people who are caught up in it love it, and some keep partying but secretly want out. But then again, you may want to leave and you may want to change, but like the night man says, you can check out but you can't leave. You might want to turn your back on that high life, but you're going to keep getting drawn back in."

Trucker nodded his approval. "Not bad," he said.

They continued to debate the meanings of various songs that came on the radio, many of which Trucker was surprised Priestly knew about at all, given his age. Asking him about it, however, was a button pushed, and Priestly closed down again, turning to look moodily out the window until they stopped at a McDonald's for a bathroom break and to get breakfast. Trucker let him eat his McMuffin first then asked Priestly to unwrap his for him.

"Thanks," Trucker said, biting into his sandwich.

Priestly sighed. "Man, if I ever see the inside of this van again, it'll be too soon." He fidgeted in the passenger seat, rubbing his hands over his face.

Trucker smirked. "I'm pretty eager to get to Santa Cruz, myself," he admitted, relieved that the traffic had eased up a little. Apparently, Priestly didn't like the next song that came on, Janis Joplin's _Son of a Preacher Man_. He stabbed the radio button for the metal station. "Seriously, kid, what's your deal with anything religious?"

Priestly cast him a warning look.

"Nope," Trucker shook his head. "Not this time. C'mon," he urged. "What's the story?"

Priestly sighed. "It's hypocrisy," he answered flatly.

"What's hypocrisy?"

"Stupid, fucking self-righteous assholes talking about goodness and mercy, telling people how to live their lives and what they're allowed to like and be and do while ignoring everything that's right under their noses, that's what!" Priestly glared at him, daring him to push further.

Trucker sensed he'd pushed hard enough for the time being. He left Priestly alone to stare out the window once again as he considered the puzzle of Priestly, religion, the bruises, and his very clear resentment of something or someone back home.

* * *

**A/N: ** **_Eulogy _by Tool is a fantastic song about hypocrisy. Just FYI, in case my chapter titles are just tooooooo bizarre!**


	7. The End Where I Begin

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

_**A/N: Warning: This chapter gets a little emo. **_

* * *

Priestly stared at the flip phone as it rested open on his palm. He thought about calling home. His mother was probably worried. He didn't give a damn about his father, but he sort of felt bad that his mother might be losing sleep wondering where her son was, if he was okay. He glanced out the window of the van for any sign of Trucker. He got through the first half of the number before he spotted Trucker coming back with another bag of grease du jour. He never thought he'd even think it, but he was sick to death of fast food and diners. He thought of his mother again and how incredulous she'd be if she knew he wanted some of her pot roast with those little onions, carrots and potatoes.

He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. He'd shaved a couple days ago, but he'd forgotten his razor in Houston. Maybe he'd let it grow a little more, carve it into something cool. Maybe a goatee. Or a soul patch. Hmmm. Something to think about.

He accepted the bag Trucker handed him. His stomach sent out a little kick of queasiness at the sight of another burger. Hunger won out, however, and he managed to down the whole sandwich as Trucker got them back on the interstate between bites of his own.

"How many more years in the Causemobile?" he asked.

Trucker's mouth lifted. "About another 8 or 9 hours, depending on traffic."

He groaned. "Seriously, I'm not driving anywhere for about a month. If I can't walk it, I can't go."

Trucker laughed. "There are buses in Santa Cruz," he told Priestly.

"I'm only getting on one if I can stand up in the aisle," he persisted, shaking his head and trying to stretch his legs. He should've volunteered to get the food.

Priestly watched the sky as fat storm clouds shifted overhead. He'd had enough of rain, but it looked like they were heading right back into a storm system that was soaking California. He sighed. It had to end sometime. He just wished it would hurry up.

Sometime later Bob Dylan's _Saved _cued up on the oldies station, pulling Priestly out of his thoughts. Trucker beat him to the radio tabs, putting on NPR, instead. Priestly glanced his way gratefully before looking out the window, biting back a grin. _Don't ask,_ he begged silently. _Dude, I just don't want to think about this shit anymore. _Trucker didn't ask, and he felt another kick of gratitude.

They were mid-conversation on NPR, and a man was mid-story. "….so the priest is standing there all up in my face, you know, and he's telling me how I'm going to hell because I'm a man and the love of my life happens to be male also, and it was all I could do not to scream in his face that his brother in the cloth was a baby raper, so please don't tell me about going to hell!"

"Fuck!" Priestly muttered, switching the channel again.

"Priestly…" Trucker was looking intently at him, his eyes shocked, his weathered face gone pale.

"WHOA!" Priestly called, pointing out the windshield at the traffic Trucker had forgotten even as the surfer came to his senses and hit the brakes. The only way to avoid a crash was to swing onto the exit ramp, which was otherwise deserted. Priestly's heart hammered in his chest from the near collision they'd had with the back end of a Semi. Trucker pulled off the road onto the dusty shoulder of some BFE desert wasteland in southeastern California.

"Priestly, maybe we ought to talk about what it was that sent you into the ocean," Trucker said. Priestly felt the older man's eyes on him even though he was not about to look back.

"Trucker," he sighed, "I—″

"Priestly, was it something like that? Like on the radio?"

"No," he said forcefully, crossing his hands in front of himself. And then he panicked wondering if Trucker would think he was too quick to protest. "No," he said again, softly. "Not me, it wasn't like that." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Man, please. I won't touch the radio again," he offered quietly, pleading.

Trucker sighed. "Priestly, I just want to understand what's going on with you. I don't want to have to worry about you when you're not two feet away from me. I couldn't just drive away and leave you there, but what do you expect me to do? Just pretend you didn't jump? I can't do that, man. So why don't you save us both a few gray hairs and tell me what's going on. Maybe I can't help or maybe I already have just getting you the hell out of there, but something's obviously eating away at you."

Priestly tried several times to start, but where? Where should he begin? At the end? Because Holly was just the end. It was the straw the broke the camel's back, sure. But it was hardly the only reason he left. "Trucker, it's a very long story. You've got a grill to open."

"Yeah, well, fuck the grill," Trucker's voice rose for the first time since Priestly met him. "I saw the bruises, Priestly, and then you've got all the religious issues, so before I start drawing some very ugly conclusions, you need to start explaining."

"Shit," Priestly whispered, itching his scalp next to his 'hawk.

"Yeah, shit," Trucker agreed quietly.

"Trucker, it's done," Priestly said wearily. "It was all in Latimer, and I'm not there anymore. I'm not going to jump off anymore cliffs. Can we just go? I'll tell you, man, I promise, but just…" He rubbed his forehead where it was starting to hurt.

Trucker just looked at him, unmoving.

"I just, I don't know where to fucking start, okay? Because it wasn't all on that last day, or the day before that or the one before that. I don't know how to explain it so that I only have to fucking explain it once and then I don't have to explain it again."

Trucker switched off the engine, still saying nothing. Priestly felt the lump in his throat swell until he almost _couldn't_ get words out.

"My father's the pastor at the only Baptist church in Latimer," Priestly began. "Couple Sundays ago, I showed up too early for church and the building was locked. My father's assistant let me inside back where the offices are. No one's usually back there that early but him and his secretary. I was going to go mess around in the congregation hall to kill time. On my way past the deacons' offices, I heard a little girl crying. Begging. So I followed the sound." Priestly swallowed. "Fucking Deacon Bennett had his hand up my next door neighbor's dress."

Trucker hissed beside him. Priestly couldn't meet his eyes. He stared out the windshield at the rain.

"I told Holly to run, and she took off. I went at the son-of-a-bitch, and I yelled for my dad. He came in and looked around and pulled me off the guy and told me to go wait in his office, but instead I waited just outside the door." Priestly laughed bitterly. "And then my dad told the deacon he was sorry, he didn't know what I thought I'd seen, but he was sorry I'd attacked him." Priestly choked. "He looked the other way. He didn't believe me at all, he just apologized to the fucking pervert. There could be–" Priestly covered his eyes with one hand and his stomach with the other. Every time he wondered if there were others, his stomach roiled. "There could be other kids like Holly, and what? He's just going to do nothing? Fuck…" He shook his head.

Trucker reached across the space between the seats and cupped the back of his neck, squeezing gently. Priestly looked out the side window. "He's got a whole congregation to think of…dozens of parents with dozens of kids. He stands up there preaching to these people about right and wrong. They look to him to set an example and instead he fucking looks the other way while some monster diddles their kids in the back fucking office!" Priestly tried to bite back the ragged sob, but he couldn't. "He's so damn strict, my whole life, never letting me do anything and punishing the hell out of me for the dumbest shit and the one time I think I can count on him to be a hardass, the _one_ time I'm _glad_ he's such a hardass and he just…he lets me down," Priestly croaked, his hand still over his eyes. He tried not to lose it completely. He tried so hard he shook from the effort of it. Trucker squeezed his neck gently at random intervals, saying nothing.

"Did you tell someone what the deacon was doing?" Trucker finally asked.

"Yeah," he replied wearily. He was suddenly so, so tired. "I went down and reported it to the sheriff's office. Sheriff talked to Holly and her parents and then came and arrested the deacon during the evening service. And then–″ Priestly took a deep breath, trying not to lose it again, "And then my father bailed him out, got him out of jail. The next day I dropped out of school and tried to make some plans, you know, because I just couldn't stand to live under the same roof with my father after that, and when I got home Deacon Bennett was waiting for me. They guy used to play football, he's like twice my size. He dragged me out behind my house and beat the fucking shit out of me for getting him suspended from the church. I woke up in the grass when the sprinklers came on. I went inside, cleaned up, went to bed, and then I took off the next morning."

Priestly stared at his knees. Trucker's hand still rested on his neck. The cabin was silent. Trucker's hand slid down to his shoulder and squeezed there.

"I've been thinking, you know," Priestly admitted softly, "Maybe if I wasn't always fighting with my dad, always trying to get away with stuff he didn't approve of…maybe he would have believed me. You know?" He glanced up at Trucker, but he was afraid if he looked too long he might see that the guy agreed with him, so he looked down again. "Maybe he wouldn't have thought I was mistaken about what I saw."

"Kid, look at me," Trucker said quietly. Priestly tried a couple times but couldn't do it. He was so afraid of what he might see looking back at him. "Look at me," Trucker repeated. Priestly met his eyes, and when he tried to turn his head, Trucker blocked the move with his free hand. "You're a good kid, Priestly. You did what you could. This isn't your fault. You saw what you saw, and your old man was out of line. You got that?"

He looked down and nodded.

"Priestly…"

He met Trucker's gentle eyes and had to clench his jaw again at the acceptance he saw there.

"You saw what you saw. You weren't wrong. You did the right thing."

Priestly nodded. He didn't look down, though his jaw quivered.

"Jesus," Trucker said, suddenly drawing him into his arms, "Come here…"

Priestly felt his whole body go rigid in panic as he tried not to lose it, but Trucker's hold was too much. The guy _got_ it. He got it, and he offered everything Priestly's father hadn't…outrage, understanding, comfort. Priestly fought hard against the emotions that threatened to spill out, but he sobbed a couple times in spite of himself. And it was okay. Trucker made it okay, somehow, to let go a little. Priestly pulled back and turned his face toward the window as Trucker gave his shoulder a final squeeze.

"Why don't you go stretch out in back for a while?" Trucker suggested.

Priestly considered it. He was tired. So tired. He nodded and slipped into the rear of the bus, flopping down on the seat. "Let me know if you need me to switch up on the driving," he offered. Trucker didn't answer, he just started the engine and put the Causemobile back on the road.


	8. Home Sweet Home

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

* * *

Trucker glanced at the kid in the rearview a few times. He was on his side facing the back of the seat so that Trucker could see his latest t-shirt's slogan: _Excuse me, you left your knife in my back_. In place of the actual word, knife, there was an ooze of blood and a hilt. He shook his head at the irony.

Man. He didn't know a soul alive who hadn't at one time or another felt disillusioned. Any child of the sixties understood disillusionment with the world at large, given the wild changes of those days: political unrest, integration, feminism, anti-conservatism. But Priestly essentially lost the foundation of his whole life…his church, his father, his belief in justice, and to some extent, his belief in himself all at once. You saw your own measure in your parents' eyes, and with his father's disbelief came a questioning of himself as a person.

He hoped the kid could catch a break in Santa Cruz. He thought he understood it now, Priestly's appearance. The snarky t-shirts, the Mohawk, the eyeliner…trying to figure out who he was outside of his father, outside of the life he knew. It would be interesting to see how Priestly moved forward, what he did with himself and what kind of person he chose to be when it wasn't chosen for him. Though so far, he'd have to say the kid seemed like a pretty good guy.

Trucker found himself wanting to call Leo. Leo would have some good advice. He just knew how to handle people and their problems. After all, he'd surfed Trucker whole again. But it wasn't just the surfing. It was the conversations you got into waiting for waves. Stuff that didn't seem too personal until suddenly it was and by then, you were okay with it going deeper. Trucker had no idea how to surf talk Priestly without the surf. Hell, even with it, if he got the kid out on a board, he doubted he'd know how to do what Leo did.

He'd never had children of his own, but sometimes he felt like a sort of father figure to the kids at the grill over the years. He tried to set a decent example. Being a _good_ example was probably asking too much of him. But he tried to be a reasonable human being, adopting a phrase from medicine as a sort of personal guideline to life: _First, do no harm_. Trucker had once briefly entertained the idea of being a doctor, but life had made other plans for him. And that was okay. He liked his life, for the most part. Though he wouldn't mind a nice woman to share it with. But he had his grill and the kids that came and went as they worked their way through school and then on to bigger and better things. He had his regulars and his long term employees, and he had Leo, Butch and Goram. Mike, rest his soul, was no doubt there also, in spirit at least.

Trucker mulled things over as he drove on, not stopping again until the very late afternoon when the sun was fully in his eyes, he was out of water, and his teeth were nearly floating in his skull because he hadn't wanted to waste time on the bathroom. He tended to lose track of time, anyway, if left to his own devices. With the kid sleeping in the back seat, there'd been no one to remind him of things like food and pit stops.

Ten minutes later, emptied out and filled up in various ways, Trucker returned to the van to find Priestly gone. The convenience store was crowded and fairly large, so it was easy to see how Priestly might have entered without him noticing. Trucker thought again about his circumstances, wondered how he was feeling now that he'd shared some of what was going on in his head.

Priestly appeared a few minutes later as Trucker was watching people come and go through the driver's side window. He climbed into the passenger seat with a fresh bottle of Coke. He glanced at Trucker.

"Need me to drive yet?"

Trucker thought about it. He _was_ getting tired. They were just on their way out of Castaic, which meant they still had about five hours to go, give or take. He nodded and went around the van while Priestly slid over from the passenger seat. Priestly turned on the radio and searched for new stations to replace the ones that had gone out of range, and Trucker reset the tabs. Once they finished, Trucker poked through the tabs one by one, settling on the classic rock station he'd found.

"Hey," Priestly grinned, "Creedence!"

Trucker grinned back at him. "Creedence," he agreed.

"Which one's your favorite?" Priestly asked, rolling out of the gas station lot.

"Too easy," Trucker said, flipping down the visor as the evening sun poked through the clouds. "_Have You Ever Seen the Rain. _Yours?"

_"Bad Moon Rising,"_ Priestly answered.

They listened to _Down on the Corner_ together in silence as Priestly bulleted back onto the interstate.

"Where am I going?" Priestly asked, glancing to his left before changing lanes to get around a slow moving vehicle.

"Just stay on the I-5."

"How much longer until the road stops?"

Trucker smiled at the hopeful tones in his voice. "About five hours."

"Sweet."

* * *

Priestly saw the "Santa Cruz City Limit" sign at just after eleven p.m. "Hey, Truck," he called to the sleeping surfer, "what exit?"

"Huh?" Trucker lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, wow," he mumbled into his hands. He mumbled the exit number, too.

"Aye, Aye, Captain," Priestly cheerfully agreed. He couldn't wait to get out of the van. He wasn't going to get in any vehicle for at least a week. Maybe a month. He was serious when he told Trucker that.

Of course, getting out of the van meant getting back to reality. _Sink or swim time, _he thought grimly. A couple stops ago, they'd had a conversation about his future.

_"You can crash at my pad for a couple weeks," Trucker said between spoonfuls of the best chili Priestly had ever tasted, "and you can try out working at the grill, if you want. If it's not for you, man, that's okay. But it's something to get you started on while you figure things out."_

_ "Thanks, man," he nodded, staring down into his chili._

_ "What's going on in your head, kid?" Trucker asked a few minutes later._

_ He shrugged. "Just trying to figure things out," he joked._

_ Trucker looked at him. "Nobody's starting a stopwatch."_

_ Priestly relaxed a little. But no way in hell was he going to take advantage. The guy had already done him more favors than any one person probably deserved. He wasn't going to let anyone think of him as a mooch if he could help it._

Priestly wished it wasn't dark out. He'd like to see more of this new place than the blur of nighttime signage and streetlights. He couldn't wait to check out the Pacific, either. Trucker gave him occasional instructions as he tried to see what he could in the dark, and then the turns came more quickly until suddenly Trucker was telling him to pull into a driveway.

"Pull up next to the house," Trucker guided.

By Priestly's estimation, Trucker's neighbors were practically on top of him because the lots were narrow but deep. It was a close fit, but Priestly managed to nestle in between the house and the well-aged privacy fence next door without hitting either one. A motion light made the area almost like daylight. He could see Trucker's place, a small house with blue siding that was just starting to look a bit weathered. The trim was white, the roof shingled. He walked around to Trucker's side of the van, wanting to scream his happiness at being free from the vehicle. In deference to the hour, however, he merely stated,

"Man, it's good to be out of the Causemobile!"

"I hear you," Trucker said, hoisting his duffle and handing Priestly his backpack before sliding the van door closed and locking it. "Did you lock the driver's side?"

"Yep," Priestly agreed. Still, he gave it a tug on his way by just to be sure.

Trucker led him up the steps of a small porch with two well loved lawn chairs and a low white plastic table. As they went up, another motion light popped on just as the driveway light shut down. Trucker caught his amused smile and said,

"Had some trouble with break-ins around here a couple years ago. I never got hit, luckily, but a lot of my neighbors did."

It was a small bungalow. Trucker hit a wall switch just inside the front door and dropped his duffle against a little lattice half-wall. The rooms were cramped but tidy with wood floors that gave off a pleasant echoing sound as they clomped across them. The furniture was older and a little oversized for the small rooms but of good enough quality that it still looked decent. The place was a little too clean, though.

Priestly's eyebrows lifted. "Housekeeper?"

Trucker chuckled. "What do you think?"

Priestly nodded. "Housekeeper," he replied definitively. Trucker laughed.

"Every Tuesday," he agreed. Yawning, he poked a finger at the little room with the sofa, chair, and the television. "TV room, obviously. Eat-in kitchen," he said, gesturing at the round booth nestled into a corner made out of windows. Hidden behind it stretched a narrow galley style kitchen. Straight ahead was a hallway. "Bathroom," Trucker said, pointing at the first door on the right, on which hung a moon and stars type outhouse sign. He ducked into the room across from it on the left. A light popped on and Trucker said, "Office and guest room. Hope you can stand the futon." He made an apologetic face.

"Fine," Priestly nodded, tossing his backpack on it. He followed as Trucker gestured down the hall.

"My room," Trucker said, pointing at the last door on the right side. He flipped another switch and light spilled into the small bedroom. Simple and sparse, it had a bed flanked by two old wooden nightstands on one wall with a small door that suggested a closet next to the far nightstand. On the opposite wall it had a dresser with a few items scattered on the top and a mirror hanging over it that was framed by driftwood planks. On the far side of that was a door Priestly assumed led to a back yard of some kind. "And this," Trucker said, opening a set of French doors just outside and to the right of his bedroom door, "is my favorite room in the house for reasons which will probably be more obvious tomorrow morning."

The double French doors swung wide to rest against the walls of what had once been the outside of the house, most likely, but was now a large room made up of half walls with windows that ran to the ceiling on either side of them and two sliding glass doors on the wall in front of them that opened to a back deck whose railings were draped with fishing nets and party lights. Seashells marched along the tops of the railings. A set of steps led into a shadowy backyard that was only partly within range of the motion light on the back of the house. The room held various mismatched chairs draped in a variety of old blankets and quilts, a small loveseat similarly covered, and several low tables. Like Leo's father's place, the walls were adorned with various surfing and beach artifacts. Low bookshelves marched along the walls under the windows, crammed with books and more random artifacts.

Priestly nodded. "Awesome," he said.

"Okay, you've had the tour. Let me get you some sheets."

Priestly wandered back into the office/guest room with the messy desk under the window, grateful that there were wood blinds over it. If he wasn't completely turned around, the room faced east. He needed all the sun blocking he could get. Trucker knocked on the door jamb and held out a stack of old blue sheets and a couple bed pillows. He demonstrated how to turn the futon from sofa mode to bed mode, and he helped Priestly tuck one of the sheets over the futon cushion before tossing the rest of the linens on top of it. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a couple of patchwork quilts.

"In case you get cold," Trucker said, dropping them on top of the rest. "I'm beat. I'm turning in. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Watch TV if you want, or use the laptop. Just don't visit any risky websites. I'll probably take off pretty early in the morning to check out the surf, so if I'm not home when you get up, just help yourself. I'll leave you a key to the place and the directions to the shop in case you want to come down and check it out. Take a couple days to look around, though. Maybe you can start up next week on Tuesday. Give you some time to check out Santa Cruz."

Priestly nodded. He put his focus on the bed as he said, "Thanks, man."

"Yeah. No problem," Trucker said, slapping his shoulder before disappearing through the doorway.

Priestly finished making his bed while listening to Trucker move through the little house…water running, toilet flushing, the closing of his bedroom door. Priestly ducked into the bathroom to find Trucker had left him a towel and a washcloth along with a little travel tube of toothpaste to go with the brush he had tucked in his shave kit.

Minty fresh and washed, he thought he would be too restless to sleep after so many hours in the car. A few thoughts of home crept in. He wondered again what his parents were doing, if they gave a shit that he was gone. He wondered why nineteen years in his father's house had never given him the same sense of ease and comfort that a half hour in Trucker's home had. Maybe because he didn't feel like Trucker was always waiting for him to screw up. Or maybe because for the first time he felt like he had a chance at being his own person without fear of retribution.

Not long after kicking off his shoes and jeans and flopping down on the futon with the book he'd been reading, Priestly was able to forget about Latimer. After that, his eyes got so heavy so fast he almost couldn't reach for the extra long pull Trucker had attached to the floor lamp just behind his head. The room barely clicked into darkness before he dropped into a dead sleep.

* * *

_**A/N: This one's a little dull, I know. Just setting the scene. ;p**_


	9. Show Me What I'm Looking For

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

* * *

Priestly blinked, his eyes roving around the room. Landing on a framed poster of _Endless Summer,_ he remembered Trucker and the rest flooded back. Scratching his chest, he lazily swung his feet to the floor and wondered what time it was. The closed wood blinds glowed a fiery orange color as the sun blazed against them, so he knew it wasn't too early.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he could see Trucker's bedroom door was slightly ajar. Since he'd closed it last night, Priestly figured he was already up if not already gone. Seeing the French doors, he remembered Trucker saying he'd understand why it was his favorite room once it was daylight. Priestly ambled idly into the room, swinging open the doors.

Whoa. He wasn't kidding.

Trucker's back yard was narrow but deep and sloped downward gently. The property was at the crest of a low hill, and even standing in the room itself he could see well through the uncovered sliding doors. You could look out to the southeast, but you could also see a riot of color in the property just behind Trucker's, which appeared to be a small park with a large gazebo at the center. Flowers bloomed everywhere. People, including several bikini clad rollerbladers, milled throughout the park. _Nice, _Priestly thought with an appreciative grin. Another bonus, Priestly discovered, was that if you went out onto Trucker's back deck and looked to the very far right, you could see a tiny sliver of ocean in the distance.

He wandered back into the kitchen as his stomach began complaining. After poking around in the fridge, freezer, and the long cabinet that was the pantry, Priestly chose a box of what he'd always considered to be "old guy cereal". Not terrible, exactly, but a lot of fiber and less sugar than the kinds he preferred. After eating nothing but junk for over a week, though, he thought old guy cereal sounded pretty good with some banana slices.

He ate out on Trucker's back deck, watching the rollerbladers and wishing he had binoculars so he could check out the bikinis close up. Not that he'd have a free hand to hold them with, seeing as how one held the bowl and the other his spoon. But once he finished eating, he kept watching for a few minutes before reluctantly heading back inside, locking the sliding glass doors and putting the dowel back in the tracks. Probably a useless gesture, since a burglar could just smash right through the glass if they wanted in badly enough, but Trucker put them there, so he put them back.

Priestly grinned at the irony of someone as laid back as Trucker, a confirmed surfer hippie, putting up motion lights and laying down dowels. Then again, paranoia seemed to go hand in hand with the weed, so maybe that was it. Not that Priestly had seen any evidence in the house that Trucker was a toker. But he seemed to otherwise fully embrace the stereotypical lifestyle, so he wouldn't be surprised.

As Priestly washed out his cereal bowl, he happened to notice a piece of paper on the kitchen counter with a set of keys.

_Priestly,_

_I'll be down at Steamer Lane surfing, then at the grill around 1 p.m. Here are the keys to the house, a bus schedule, a free one day bus pass, and a map to Beach City Grill. If you come by the grill, your first sub is on me. I left your name with the crew in case I'm not in yet. If you're walking, head out the door to the left then left again at the corner. Once you pass the park, on the next corner there's a hotel. Check the brochure rack in the lobby to get ideas on places to see, things to do. Take the bus schedule/map. Be sure to lock up! _

_T._

_PS: Sunblock! Wear it, or you'll be sorry. _

Priestly grinned at the stick figure drawing of a surfer. He folded the map to the grill, which also had the phone number. He tucked it in his back pocket with the bus pass. After fixing the damage a good night's sleep had done to his 'hawk and applying liberal amounts of sunblock to any exposed skin, he scooped up the keys and the bus schedule booklet, pocketed his cell phone, and headed out to explore Santa Cruz.

* * *

Trucker pulled into the little alley behind the shop at just after two, later than he'd planned. He grimaced as he made his way in the back entrance and confirmed the hour on the time clock. No one used it. It had been there when he leased the space, so he left it alone. But the time was correct, unfortunately. He could already hear Joe griping at the grill.

"Sorry, kids," he said as he hurried into the front area, already throwing on an apron. He spared the long line of customers a glance as he hit the sink to scrub his hands. "Where's David?"

Sally breezed past him, going her usual ninety miles an hour. She picked up orders for two tables and whipped past him again before he finished washing his hands and snorted, "You mean No-Show?"

"Uh-oh," Trucker winced. "Today?"

Joe copied Sally's sarcastic snort. "Try first day you were gone!"

"Oh, man!" Trucker frowned. "Why didn't you call?"

Joe gave him a _you gotta be kiddin'_ look. In his heavy Jersey accent, he chided, "Ain't nobody gonna ask you to come back early from a funeral, Truck."

"Yeah, but after," he protested, checking the row of tickets. There were several to-go orders for soup. He began ladling so that Joe could keep up with the grill orders. Joe just gave him another look.

"Staff gets free dinner tonight," Trucker decided, turning to place three containers of soup on the counter where Sally could scoop them up. He dashed letters on the lids with a grease pencil so she would know the flavors. Cracking a smile at Jen, his newest employee, he asked, "What about you, Angel? How's the website coming?"

"Up and running," she said, turning her blonde head his way. Her brown eyes followed more slowly, reluctant to leave the screen of the laptop. "And busy," she added as a chime sounded from the computer. "Joe, two more meatballs. Tens."

He lifted his spatula to indicate he heard her. Trucker turned back to the tickets. Finding no other soups, he grabbed two ten inch buns and sliced them open, dropping them on the grill. "Has Priestly come in?"

"If he did, I ain't see him."

"Jen?" Trucker asked.

Distracted, she asked, "What?"

"Did Priestly come in?"

"I don't think so."

When Sally came to the counter for the two Phillies Trucker was wrapping, he asked her, too.

"Definitely no Mohawks in here this morning," she replied over her shoulder, already on her way to deliver the subs to a waiting table.

_So much for the late afternoon lull, _Trucker thought.

That afternoon lull came belatedly at around three p.m. Trucker sat down on the high stool in front of the register with a sigh. Priestly still had not come in. He didn't know whether to worry or not. He realized with some amusement that he was getting to be a real worrywart all of a sudden. Having taken the kid in, though, he felt obligated to look after him until he got things figured out. The thought reminded him he still wanted to call Leo. The grill was not the place for that conversation, though.

Joe cleaned up the grill, and Sally cleaned off tables. Jen, with the internet orders having come to a temporary halt, took it upon herself to clean and straighten the front counter. Trucker admired her initiative. She was no David. He rolled his eyes. Good riddance, he supposed, but he wished the kid had at least waited until he got back in town to pull the disappearing act.

"Okay, kids," Trucker called, moving over to the grill side of the laptop. "Quick meeting while we have a few seconds."

Joe nodded but kept cleaning the grill, which Trucker expected. He just wanted to make sure the guy's ears were open. Jen kept cleaning the counter, too, but she looked up at him to show she was paying attention. Sally brought back a tray full of empty baskets and glasses, which she passed to Jen.

"So, I hear David vanished. Three days of no show means he's terminated, so if he happens to come in and I'm not here, call me. You know where my numbers are. How are things with the new internet site? What's the volume like? Heavy? Super heavy?"

"Mostly heavy with some super heavy," Joe said, still working on the grill.

"I agree," Sally said. "A raging success, but so much so we need more hands on deck. Florida's looking mighty good, Trucker."

He chuckled. "Don't even think about it, Angel. Not yet, anyway. Jen, you up for taking David's spot?"

"Sure," she said. "I'm in school, though. Is that a problem?"

"We can work around it. We'll sit down later and work out a schedule, if you'll be here around seven."

She nodded.

"Wait a second," Sally interjected, leaning over the counter on her elbows, "I thought hiring was a democratic process around here."

Jen smiled shyly, looking at him and then at Sally.

"All in favor say, 'aye'," Trucker replied, holding up his hand.

Joe's spatula shot up, and Sally lifted her hand.

"Motion passed. Jen, you're hired," Trucker said.

Jen, looking bewildered, just smiled again.

"Meeting adjourned."

He'd no sooner eased into a booth with the mail that had come in while he was gone when Sally marched out of the hallway that led to the restrooms.

"Trucker, we're dangerously low on TP in the ladies room, and I can't find any spares back there."

He no sooner opened his mouth to tell her to go on a supply run when the front door opened and a large group of some sort filtered in. He slid out of the booth. "Can it wait until after we take care of this group?"

She shook her head. "Dangerously low. Trapped in a stall with nothing, begging for help low."

He laughed. "Say no more, Angel. I'll be as quick as I can." He handed her the stack of mail to tuck back behind the counter and headed for the door.

* * *

Priestly was not having the best day. He kept getting lost, and whenever he asked for directions people just looked at him like he was from the moon. After taking Trucker's advice and walking down to the Hobnob Hotel, he decided to check out the boardwalk. A short bus ride later, he found the boardwalk, but after messing around there for a couple hours, he tried to find the Surfing Museum. He got turned around and walked a mile in the wrong direction before someone finally told him how to get there.

After another hour, he hopped another bus and a transfer bus and went the wrong way again looking for Trucker's shop. This time he caught it earlier but had to wait a half hour for the bus going in the right direction. By the time he made it to the Beach City Grill, it was after three.

The little brick building at the corner with its blue tile and blue awnings and big windows looked inviting, and the surfboard affixed to the exterior made him grin in relief. That was Trucker, sure enough. He pulled open the door, stepping aside to let a couple pass on their way out. He glanced around but didn't see Trucker. A whiteboard on the edge of the counter announced the specials of the day.

"Hi," a blonde girl offered him a smile. She was the first person all day who didn't look at him like he was some kind of idiot. He tipped his chin at her, grinning back.

"Can I get the, uh, Maui Jim?" he asked, referring to the special…a grilled teriyaki chicken sub with Maui onion and pineapple.

"Which special? The combo meal, which is the six inch sub with chips and a drink or the ten inch sub with just a drink and no chips?"

"Ten inch," he replied, slipping her a twenty dollar bill. "With a coke."

"That'll be about ten minutes," the blonde said, handing him his change. He dropped a dollar in the tip jar when she turned to call his order to a guy at the grill. Turning back to him, she said, "If you sit down, we'll bring it when it's ready."

Priestly noticed she had a college course catalog next to her elbow. "Hey, can I borrow that for a few minutes?" he pointed to the catalog. She pushed it across the counter. "Thanks." He paused. "You go to school there?"

She nodded, glancing at him for a moment before a beep sounded on the laptop, pulling her eyes back to the screen. "Joe," she said, turning toward the grill, "I need a ten inch Spicy Italian and a six inch Tofurkey."

Priestly glanced behind her at the man working the grill, who held up his spatula, tipping it like a head nodding. The girl glanced back at him again. "Do you have a major?" he asked.

"Computer science," she answered, gesturing at the laptop, which dinged at her again.

Priestly nodded. "Thanks again," he said, holding up the catalog as he backed away from the counter. He slid into a booth by the front windows, facing the street so he could look out at the passersby if he got bored of the catalog. He was checking out the fields of study when he heard a woman's voice next to him.

"You must be Priestly."

He looked up at a tiny redheaded woman wearing white jeans, a clingy green top, and a blue waist apron. "I must be," he answered with a half smile.

She nodded and placed a basket in front of him. "Trucker said you'd be in."

Priestly looked around the shop. "Is he here?"

She shook her head. "Supply run. He should be back in a few minutes."

Picking up his sandwich, he smiled at her again. She just stood there looking at him. "I'm Sally," she said just as he bit into his sub and couldn't answer back. So he just nodded and chewed. The combination of flavors hit him and he closed his eyes. She apparently noticed. "Good, right?"

"Mmmmm," he agreed, savoring the unexpected spiciness of the Teriyaki against the sweetness of the pineapple and onion. A little bit of heaven on a roll.

"Well, it's good to meet you, Priestly. I'll send Trucker over when he gets back."

He nodded again, having just taken another bite. Instead of watching the people outside, he turned to the side and watched the people in the shop. Sally moved like a hummingbird, darting from one end of the shop to the other, always a blur of motion. He guessed she was Italian, because she looked the part…short and tiny with huge brown eyes and olive skin, but sassy and fiery. She traded barbs with what Priestly figured were the regulars, judging by their easy familiarity, and she laughed freely.

The girl behind the counter was mostly quiet, but she was always watching. More than once, he caught her watching him. She'd just smile as if to show she was harmless before ducking back behind the laptop. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and shy. Like Trucker, she had gentle brown eyes that never seemed to judge. She just saw and accepted. Meek but friendly.

Joe, the guy at the grill, he didn't say much, either. Priestly didn't see much of him behind the rise of the far end of the counter. He and the laptop girl seemed to work in harmony. She'd turn and give him orders and the spatula would rise in acknowledgment. If she had to leave the laptop to help Joe fill orders, they moved around each other with a subtle awareness of one another that amazed him. He thought they must have been working there together for some time to achieve that kind of dance, because it was flawless and they never missed a step, never collided.

All in all, from what he was seeing, he thought he might like working there. Though the whole starting over thing was still scarier than it was exhilarating, the word "free" was starting to sound less empty and more possible all the time. Grinning to himself, Priestly attacked the sub with renewed vigor.


	10. Perfect Simple Plan

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

_**A/N: A reader PM'd me to ask why Joe/Sally work at the grill and not Tish/Piper. This story is set in 2003, 4 years before the movie (2007). If you know anything about restaurants of any kind, you know turnover is rapid. It's a stretch just having Jen and Priestly working there for 4 years by the time we hit canon, so I have OCs working there for now to keep this tale from being completely, ridiculously unrealistic. **_

_**We now return you to our regularly scheduled program….**_

* * *

Priestly had his head bent over something when Trucker returned to the dining room after giving Sally the TP. Trucker slid into the booth across from him, taking in the empty basket and the soda.

"Hey," Priestly said, closing what turned out to be a catalog for UCSC.

"Hey, yourself," Trucker replied. "Any trouble finding the place?"

Priestly rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? I've been getting lost all day."

Trucker chuckled. "You'll get your bearings. Did you meet everybody?"

Priestly shook his head. "Not officially, no."

Trucker got the sense that Priestly got up and followed him only reluctantly, grabbing his trash and tucking the college catalog under one arm. One by one he introduced the crew to Priestly and explained a little bit about the grill, how things were set up and generally how they ran. "We're open 11 to 9 every day except Mondays. If you're scheduled to open, though, that means 10 because we've got food prep to do."

"What time did you leave today?" Priestly asked him offhandedly.

"Around eight." Trucker didn't miss Joe's eye rolling and smirk. He laughed. "Joe called the house this morning to make sure I was back and could open the shop. When I groaned at him, he told me he could open after all and told me to go surfing, so—"

"So then he went surfing and showed up an hour late and left us in the weeds!" Joe called out from the grill.

Trucker hung his head good naturedly. "Okay, okay…two free dinners," he called. Joe lifted the spatula in acceptance of the offer. Priestly looked at him, one eyebrow cocked. "He's an easy buyoff," Trucker joked.

Trucker continued on, pausing to introduce him to Jen. He explained she'd set up his internet website and the online ordering functionality, and now Trucker needed more staff because it turned out people really liked ordering ahead and just stopping in to pick up. Taking advantage of that bit of new technology was easier than figuring out how to move half of the kitchen so they could put in a drive through window along that wall, which ran parallel to the street.

Priestly slid the catalog toward her with a "thanks".

He then discovered that Sally had already met Priestly and moved on to other details before leaving Priestly in the booth again with a W4 and an instruction packet on the food handler's test location and times. "But hey," he said as an afterthought, "you don't have to do any of that right now. Just make sure you have it on Tuesday. And let me know soon what sort of hours you'd rather work…early shift, mid-shift, late shift."

Priestly nodded at him. "If you need me sooner, I can start sooner," he offered.

Trucker was torn. Was the kid offering because he wanted to start, wanted money? Or was he only offering because he thought Trucker was in a bind? He was, now that David was gone, but he didn't want to take away Priestly's acclimation time. "Well," Trucker finally conceded after some back and forth discussion, "maybe you could start earlier but you wouldn't have to work a full schedule yet if you didn't want to."

"Well, are we talking part time or full time shifts?"

Trucker shrugged. "Well, on the low end, we'd be talking 20 hours a week. On the high end, I could really use someone for 30 to 35 hours, but we could just put you on for 16 or 20 to start."

"I can do 30 a week," Priestly said. "That's, what…five days at six hours a day?"

Trucker nodded. "Mondays off, and unless someone gets sick or goes on vacation, everybody gets another day off in there somewhere…but it isn't the same day every week, usually."

"That's ok. But, I mean, if I decide to take a class or something, we can work around it, right?"

"Absolutely," Trucker agreed. He could see the wheels turning in Priestly's head.

"Then that's cool. Sign me up for thirty. There's still plenty of time left in the day to look around."

Trucker smiled. "Okay, then. But I'm not putting you on until day after tomorrow."

Priestly shrugged. "Whatever."

Priestly just watched things for a while, sitting in the booth. He filled in the W4 but said he'd have to get back to Trucker on the social security number and birth certificate copies. When things started to pick up again, he moved from the booth to stand and watch from over by the register. When he tried to pitch in, however, Trucker drew the line.

"You're not on until day after tomorrow. We're fine here. Go have some fun. Trust me, you'll be complaining by the weekend."

Priestly smirked at him, but he nodded and ducked out of the shop with a wave.

* * *

Priestly managed to find the right bus back to Trucker's place. Once there, he sat on the futon looking at his phone for a minute, and then he looked over at Trucker's laptop. He basically had two choices. Either jump on the 'net to find out how to get a copy of his birth certificate and a replacement social security card, or call home to tell his mother he was still alive and somehow in the course of the conversation, ask her to mail them to him.

He thought again about the way he'd left...silently, in the pre-dawn light. How he thought about leaving a quick note for his mother. She was caught in the middle, guilty only of standing back while his father shoved his beliefs down his throat, never listening to anything he wanted, anything he thought about, anything he was. Never noticing that because of him or in spite of him, Priestly knew right from wrong. Or at least he thought he had until his father's blind eye to Bennett's actions made him question everything he thought he knew. So he thought maybe she deserved his silence.

Priestly flopped back against the futon's cushion, remembering what a bitch it had been to fold without Trucker's help. But he hadn't wanted to leave it unfolded, either. It seemed like he should keep quiet and leave as little evidence of himself behind as possible, disrupt Trucker's life as little as possible and get into a place of his own as quickly as possible.

He thought about it from every angle. Call, don't call. Rise above his anger and show a little mercy, or not. He knew his mother would be worried, and he knew she loved him. It was the realization that punishing her for being subservient seemed no different than demanding subservient behavior that had him dialing.

"Hello?"

He nearly choked at the sound of her voice. He paused so long she asked again.

"Hello?"

Still, he couldn't get the words out. His jaw clenched of its own accord.

"Boaz?" The hopeful note in her voice hit him almost as hard as Bennett's fist in his guts.

"Mom," he said softly.

"Boaz, where are you?" her voice broke. "Are you alright?"

"Priestly," he replied. "I go by Priestly now."

She repeated it back to him, and he blinked rapidly at the foreign sound. He almost wanted to take it back, but he didn't. "Priestly…honey, are you alright? I found some bloody towels on the floor of your closet."

Anger rose up and overtook the lump in his throat. "Yeah," he said, his voice hard, "that's because Bennett stopped by the house to beat the hell out of me for getting him arrested."

Her silence on the other end made him go cold. He knew without asking, without her saying. She didn't believe him, either.

"Well," he said quietly but with no less venom, "I'm ok, so goodbye."

"Bo—″

He pushed the disconnect button on his phone and started to throw it across the room. The only thing that stopped him was seeing the _Endless Summer _poster and remembering Trucker's kindness. Smashing in his walls or breaking a window would hardly be a good way to say thanks.

The phone rang in his hand, startling him. Looking down at the display, he recognized his home phone number. Fucking caller ID! He turned off the phone and left it on the futon, easing into the desk chair and flipping open Trucker's laptop. Guess he'd have to send away for his own documents. He clamped down on his jaw hard, effectively stopping the faint first sting of tears.

* * *

Soon the days began to blur together.

Priestly and Trucker fell into a routine both at Trucker's place and at the grill. Priestly preferred to work the later part of the day, starting his shift at around three-thirty and working until close. Just like the opening shift meant coming in an hour early for food prep, the closing shift meant staying thirty minutes later for clean up. He didn't see as much of Joe or Sally, because they were openers. But since they were full time employees, they were in the shop only until six each evening, leaving Priestly, Jen, and Trucker to close.

Priestly liked Sally, but he couldn't honestly say the same about Joe. For that reason, he preferred the part of the day after they both went home. He and Joe didn't seem to hit it off. For the most part, they respected each other and were civil, but Priestly noticed Joe looked at him much the same way as so many people had that first day in Santa Cruz. Like he was some sort of imbecile or asshole with his Mohawk and his loud shirts. Sort of his father all over again, but without religion and without smacking him around.

Joe, much like Priestly, had strong opinions. And now that Priestly wasn't constantly being quieted by his father's strong discipline, he more than once found himself at the wrong end of Joe's sharp tongue. Priestly was by no means perfect and not necessarily right or wrong about anything, but he at least listened to Joe and tried to respect his views even if he didn't agree with them. To Priestly, every topic was debatable, and Priestly didn't mind if things got a little intense. But Priestly stuck to the topic at hand, offering his argument or opinion without dragging irrelevant issues into the fray, whereas Joe didn't know how to handle intense without going on attack and waging full on war. He frequently belittled Priestly and his thoughts and sentiments, making things personal until Jen inevitably tried to change whatever subject they were on.

At Trucker's place, Priestly kept the guest room neat, cleaned up after himself and did his own laundry. He often cooked them dinner if they didn't just have subs at the shop. Though Trucker never seemed to mind his presence in the house, he tried to spend a good amount of time out on his own to give Trucker some privacy. He picked up the weekly events paper, _Good Times_, and started hanging around some different clubs, places like Moe's Alley and The Catalyst, depending on his mood.

He saved almost every penny of his paychecks, using his share of the tip jar proceeds, which was actually pretty decent money, as his pocket money. Since he favored thrift stores and flea markets and wasn't opposed to checking out yard sales, he didn't spend much. He continued to add more clothes to his small wardrobe. At the end of March, he started looking at studio apartments and rooms for rent. He didn't exactly hide it, but he didn't outright tell Trucker about it, either. He didn't want Trucker to think he wasn't grateful or anything. It was the complete opposite, in fact. He wanted to give Trucker his space back. It wasn't like Trucker had planned to take in some fucked up guy that tried to drown himself.

Priestly was finishing his break, sucking the last of the liquid from his paper cup of soda, circling any rental ad that looked promising when a shadow fell over the table. He glanced up guiltily, expecting Trucker. His heart shot into his throat as he looked into his own eyes, only older. He shot to his feet so fast, bumped the table so hard his empty plate and the silverware on it rattled.

"Dad…" he said helplessly, glancing past him to Trucker, who just gave him a curious look.

"B—"

"Let's talk outside," Priestly cut him off, unable to reconcile the sight of his father standing in Beach City Grill. So that his father couldn't argue, Priestly shoved past the front door and strode rapidly around the corner until he passed the big plate glass windows and stood well back near the dumpsters.

Looking at his father, Priestly was astonished to realize how old the man looked. How tired. He felt the first prickling of something like guilt as he wondered whether it was he who'd caused such aging. He didn't remember his father looking like this, like just a man. But maybe he'd only been kinder in his assessment before. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He just stared at his father and wondered how he'd found him, how he'd known to come to the grill.

"Boaz, what have you done to yourself?" His father finally said, apparently noticing his combat boots, military pants, and his shirt which, ironically enough, read: _Jesus is coming. Look busy._

"Priestly," he corrected automatically.

"_Boaz,_" his father repeated harshly.

"Priestly," he said again, softly. But he was no less harsh.

"I'm not calling you that," his father replied with a derisive sneer. His eyes made Priestly want to look away. Hard. Angry. Cold. Demanding.

"You will if you want me to answer," he said, surprised at the calmness in his voice. No quiver. No tremble.

"What do you want me to say?" his father asked. No 'how are you?'. No 'are you alright?'. The guy flew how many miles just to ask what Priestly wanted?

_Where do I start? _ Priestly thought sarcastically. Aloud he asked, "Why are you here?"

"I'm here because your mother cries her eyes out worrying about you because you won't answer your phone and just talk to her. You want to be angry with me, fine. You want to dress yourself up like some sort of punk idiot, you go right ahead. But you better stop taking your anger at me out on her."

Priestly folded his arms across his chest. "Is that it? You flew all the way here to tell me to call Mom?"

"Don't be snide with me, B—″

"Priestly," he corrected flatly. "Let me ask you something. Did you ever stop to think about Holly? Did you bother to go next door and ask her what happened?"

His father's face hardened. "Son," he began, his voice rising, "listen. You—"

"No, _you _listen. You listen, Dad," Priestly's own voice rose hoarsely as he thrust an accusing finger toward his father. "Did you ever for one second stop to ask yourself _what if_? What if Priestly's right? What if Holly wasn't the first? What if there are more of them? How many kids has Bennett fucked with, Dad? Have you asked? Do you care?" Priestly took a step closer to him. "Those people depend on you to lead them, to lead the church, to do what's right. They don't come to church to see their kids abused. And what about their faith? Huh? You ever consider what it will do to their faith in God?" _Ask me, _he added silently. _I'll tell you a thing or two._

"Enough!" his father shouted. "I've heard just about enough. Do _you_ have any idea what _you've_ done to Dale Bennett? The man is a public disgrace. He's turned to liquor, he's so devastated by these accusations, he—″

"What _I've_ done? _Me?_" Priestly shook his head in amazement. "What I did was stop a fucking predator. That's what_ I_ did. I saw what I saw," he said, remembering Trucker's words and throwing them at his father. "You don't mistake a man's hand up a little girl's dress," Priestly's voice caught. He blinked back tears. "So the only real question is why the fuck won't you believe your own son over a son of a bitch child molester? And the only answer I can think of is that if you ignore it, you're condoning it, and that makes you just as fucking guilty."

Priestly felt his head snap back as his father's fist crashed into his mouth. He stumbled backward into the building and lost his footing. Clutching his mouth, he righted himself only to get hit again, this time in the nose. This time, he stayed down, leaning against the wall. He saw Trucker move forward from out of nowhere, placing a palm against his father's chest.

"I think you need to listen to what your son is telling you," Trucker was saying, "and I think you need to do it somewhere besides here."

"This is none of your business," his father answered, stepping into Trucker's hand.

"You're making it my business. You keep your hands off my employees and you get your feet off my property or you're going to have to call your friend the deacon to bail _you_ out."

Priestly eased to his feet, swearing as blood dripped down his palm from either his nose or his busted lip. Or maybe both. His father's eyes were full of rage as he turned away, his strides short and fast. He looked down at his feet, clenching his jaw as Trucker's arm came gently around his shoulder.

"C'mon, let's get you a towel…"

Priestly wasn't sure which one of them was shaking. He just let Trucker steer him to the back door of the grill and to the utility sink in the corner, grateful when he said nothing. Trucker just handed him a clean bar towel, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and went back out front to help Jen with the latest wave of customers.


	11. Colors Crossfade

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

* * *

Priestly listened to the sounds in the grill with his head down, his face pressed into the towel to stop the bleeding. Joe was going to leave soon. He needed to get it together so he could keep the customers in sandwiches for the final three hours. But he wouldn't soon forget his father's look of disdain and disgust, standing there staring at him on the sidewalk. In fact, it was all he could see at the moment. The image was burned on his brain. Well, fuck him, too. Priestly lifted his head and looked at himself in the cracked mirror that was losing its silver. He used a few paper towels dampened under the sink to remove the excess blood from his lip and chin. He waited to see if any fresh blood would ooze out, but none did.

Trucker came in and caught him just staring at himself in the mirror. He swiped at his face again, pretending he had a purpose other than trying to figure out what it was about him that made his father so unable to believe him…believe _in_ him. He wadded up the paper towels and pitched them into the garbage and dropped the towel into the Beast, Sally's nickname for the washing machine they only ran after hours because it made so much noise.

"You okay?" Trucker asked, studying him.

He shrugged. "I'll live," he answered. And he would. No more cliff diving.

Trucker gave him a look. "That's not what I asked."

"I know," he said, picking up the apron he'd removed before his break. He tied it around his hips again. When he moved to go back into the front, Trucker put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he repeated. Priestly couldn't handle looking him in the eye just then.

"Fuck if I know," he muttered, shoving past him.

Working probably wasn't the best idea, in retrospect. He was definitely in no mood for it. And apparently, his ears weren't, either, because somewhere in the space between them and Jen's mouth, the orders she called to him transformed themselves into the wrong items. She said "Two ten-inch meatball subs" and he heard "two ten-inch Max Meat subs" and in place of "six-inch Tofurkey" he heard "six-inch Turkey". When he mistook a cup of chicken noodle for a cup of corn chowder, Trucker took the ladle from him just in time to save the order. Annoyed with himself, he tossed the spatula down. Unfortunately, the careless toss brought the spatula down on the handle of the ladle for the marinara they used for the meatball subs, knocking it just enough to send a spray of simmering marinara across his face and shirt.

"Shit!" he swore as it burned, reaching for a towel. Trucker grabbed his shoulder and steered him into the back room.

"Priestly," he said mildly, "Go home. Mellow out. Come back tomorrow."

He opened his mouth to argue.

"Go," Trucker said, pointing at the back door, grabbing one of the apron strings and tugging. Priestly barely caught it as it fell. He rolled it tightly, dropped it on the little shelf with the others. He slammed out the back door and then felt like an ass as the door crashed loudly closed. He couldn't go back to apologize because the door automatically locked when closed.

He ran to the bus stop, trying to release some of the anger. It wasn't all that far, was the excuse Priestly gave when it didn't work. He wished he knew how to fight, really fight. He'd like to be in front of a punching bag just now. Just knock the hell out of something. Someone.

He ended up walking straight past the corner instead of turning down the street to Trucker's house. Sitting around the house would do him no good. It would just trap him in his head all over again. He kept walking, down to the little park behind Trucker's place. Wednesday nights there were small concerts held on the lawn. Whatever band was playing crowded under the large gazebo and patrons lounged on blankets and beach chairs to listen. Tonight's fare was something bluesy with a harder edge that almost blended into heavy metal.

Priestly stayed on the walking path that wound through the park. He didn't want to wade into the crowds on the lawn. Walking was helping, though he wished it would help faster. He still wanted to hit something, but unless he wanted to break his hand against a tree or a light post, he was out of luck.

He lost track of time, listening to the front man's wailing and sorrowful but angry music, just doing laps around and around the little park.

"On your left!"

Priestly jerked to the side, startled, and when he did, something caught his left leg hard, right at the back of his knee. As he crashed to the sidewalk, a body flipped past him, hit the edge of the sidewalk with a grunt, and rolled. He sat up in horror as he realized it was a girl. A girl in a tank top, denim cutoffs, and rollerblades.

"Uhhh," she groaned, stirring. Her back was to him.

"Hey," he said, alarmed, skidding to a stop beside her. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry!" He winced as she turned, her eyes full of daggers. He stood up, fearing if he didn't he might get clocked again. He'd had enough of that for the day.

"What part of 'on your left' didn't you understand?" she groused, checking herself out by slowly rolling each shoulder and bending each leg and flexing her fingers. He realized with some relief that she was wearing pads on both elbows and both knees and braces on her wrists. No helmet, though. Her blonde hair scattered in the breeze.

"Sorry." He repeated, shaking his head apologetically. He pointed to his head. "Off in my own world." He noticed her noticing his lip.

"Looks like you've had a worse day than mine," she said, her voice grudgingly more friendly.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, some idiot did just make you wipe out." He held a hand out to her to help her up.

One corner of her mouth quirked up. "That's true," she said, sliding her hand into his, accepting his help. Priestly tugged gently until she was back on her wheels.

"I didn't break you, did I?"

"Uh," she looked down at herself and then behind herself. "Nope." She gestured to the sidewalk as she clomped back toward it from the grass. He followed. She turned backwards on the blades so that she faced him and rolled slowly as he continued walking. "I'm Judith, but most people call me Jude."

"Priestly," he said. And then he grinned. "Judith, Priestly," he said gesturing at her and then himself.

Her mouth curved upward as she caught on. "Judas Priest. Ha, that's funny." She winked at him. "You're just full of religious humor today," she teased, pointing at his shirt. "Although Judas Priest is a band," she acknowledged. "But my granddad uses it in place of Jesus Christ," she smirked.

He cocked his head down at his shirt and just grinned.

"You live around here?"

He nodded. "For now."

"Well, then," she said with a small wave, "maybe I'll see you around here again." And then, just as quickly as she'd sprawled into his day, she rolled back out again.

He chose her exit to make his own, figuring that Trucker would be home soon if he wasn't already. He felt a little less like beating the hell out of someone, which was good. And he knew Trucker would be glad.

Trucker was nursing a beer on the back deck, listening to the concert. You couldn't make out the words, but the music was still fairly distinguishable. Priestly gave him a nod and sat down in the chair across from his. He waited for Trucker to ask, but he didn't. They just sat out in the cool night, each thinking their own thoughts and listening to the notes that drifted in the darkness.

* * *

Despite having talked to Leo just minutes before Priestly joined him on the back deck, Trucker had no idea what to say to the kid. Just when it appeared he was starting to get his footing, he got kicked to the ground again. The look on Priestly's face answered any question Trucker had about who the guy was that had stopped at his table. It was the same look on the kid's face when he'd explained about the deacon. Shocked disbelief. A little sick. A lot hurt. The cuts and the bruises would heal. It was the other damage that Trucker was worried about, and it was what he had no idea how to address. So after he'd ranted to Leo for a good half hour about the kid's jackass father, Leo had only two things to say.

"Truck, I think you're getting too close to this kid. I mean, nothing wrong with caring, but do you think maybe it's because you see yourself in him? You know, from right after you came back from 'Nam?"

"Well, sure, I guess. I mean, I wasn't jumping into the ocean, but there were nights I sat with my bowie against my wrist, inches away from slicing my radial artery."

"It ain't your job to save him, Trucker. He's got to do that for himself. You can't put it on yourself to fix him. If you start taking that on and you fail, that's just going to twist you all up again, and I'm not sure I have it in me to knock sense in you a second time."

Trucker laughed. "You just don't have anything else to teach me," he teased. "The student has surpassed the teacher."

Leo hooted into the phone. "Oh, don't get smart, Kook. You don't know it all yet."

"Get back out here and prove it," Trucker taunted, swinging back into the old familiar territory.

"Wish I could. You keeping an eye on my place?" Leo asked, changing the subject.

"Sure. I was just there yesterday after surfing."

"Everything good?"

"Yeah. Yard could use mowing. I'll get to it Monday, maybe."

"That's the tenant's job, man," Leo complained. "You still having trouble with them not minding the lease agreement?"

Trucker winced. He didn't want to tell Leo that his renters almost never minded their agreement, but as long as the agreed rental payments kept coming in, he didn't want to rock the boat. It was easier to have tenants than to find tenants these days. Leo's rental contract, which he was very proud of, was a sort of a la carte proposition. Leo's property included a detached, extra deep two car garage with a one bedroom apartment over it. Leo lived in the main house and rented out the garage apartment. The tenant could choose to pay higher rent for a "no hassle" lease, or they could reduce the monthly rent by taking care of the lawn or performing a specific list of maintenance and small repairs, both of which saved Leo money on the cost of hiring such tasks out. The big repairs were still his responsibility, of course, but the lease was designed to save him on the little expenses. Trucker was not as good at enforcing the lease as Leo was, and as a result, he ended up doing a lot of the work the tenants were supposed to do. And now, unfortunately, the current tenants were two months late on rent.

"I think, actually, that we're going to have to start an eviction on them," Trucker admitted, frowning. He waited for Leo to react. He was not disappointed.

"What? Truck!"

It was a familiar scenario. The last three times the tenants failed to keep up with rents, Trucker waited to tell Leo until he was sure they wouldn't catch up, which frustrated Leo to no end. And now it was happening again.

"Alright, man," Leo sighed. "Nail 'em and mail 'em."

"Sure," Trucker agreed. "I'll put the certified letter in the mail tomorrow and post the notice on their door."

"You're a shitty landlord," Leo griped.

"I never said otherwise," Trucker agreed.

"Yeah, yeah," Leo retorted. "Think about what I said, man. I'm too far away to worry about you."

"I know," Trucker said. After a moment of silence on both ends, he said, "Hey, Surf Papa…"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks."

"Yeah, man. Any time."


	12. Spaz' House Destruction Party

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

_**A/N: YEAH, that's really a song (Spaz' House Destruction Party). Kinda punk sounding, which I thought fit Priestly well.**_

* * *

"Priestly…"

He lifted his head at the sound of Trucker's voice, blinking in the too-harsh light from the window whose blinds he forgot to close the night before. "Huh? What?" he croaked groggily, rubbing one palm across his eyes, rolling from his stomach onto his back.

"Can you give me a hand with something today?" Trucker asked.

"Yeah. Sure," he said in the general direction of Trucker's voice. "Can you?" he asked in shorthand, pointing with his free hand at the window, the other still clamped over his eyes. He let out a relieved sigh as the room darkened enough to crack open his eyes.

"What did you do last night, Priestly?" Trucker chuckled.

He scrubbed his face with both hands. "There was music. And beer. Lots of beer." Too much beer. He felt his stomach roll at the thought and made a face.

"Hey, man, if you'd rather sleep, I can—"

"Nope, I'm good," Priestly answered, rising. "Just let me shower."

"Sure."

A shower, some time in front of the bathroom mirror, and a bowl of cereal later, Priestly found himself in the Causemobile with the window rolled down to maintain his alert status. "So, what's this hand I'm giving you all about?"

"Remember Leo, the guy we stopped to see in Texas?"

Priestly turned to look at Trucker. "Surf Papa?"

Trucker grinned and tipped his head. "Yeah. Surf Papa."

Priestly nodded. "What about him?"

"Well, I've been looking after his place since he's been in Texas. He's got some renters there in an apartment over his garage. They're supposed to take care of the yard and do minor repairs as part of their lease agreement, and they haven't done that. They're also 2 months late on rent. I put the eviction order on their door about 10 days ago, so I figure if they're still there they aren't bothering with the yard. I don't want the HOA going ape on him."

"Gotcha," Priestly replied, turning to look back out the window.

"And," Trucker continued, "since you're itching to find a place, thought you might want to check out the digs, see if you and Leo can work out a lease."

Priestly's head whipped around. He gave Trucker a guilty look. Trucker just smirked. "Hey, Trucker, you know I really—″

Trucker held a hand up. "I know you do. But you know there's no stopwatch, right? No countdown?"

"Yeah, I know," Priestly nodded. "Thanks."

When Trucker pulled into the driveway of a house about ten minutes from his own place, Priestly's jaw dropped.

"Holy crap…" he said.

Trucker was speechless. Priestly pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 411.

"I need the police non-emergency number," he said as Trucker got out of the van, hands on his hips. "I don't have paper and a pen. Can you connect me? Thanks." Priestly watched Trucker's head shake as he stared at the house in dismay. Leo's house, the main house, appeared okay. But the rollup door on the detached garage, on the other hand, was dented and tagged. The garage apartment was also defaced with graffiti and its windows were broken…from the inside, judging by the glass on the concrete below. Priestly swore viciously until he heard someone pick up the line.

"Santa Cruz Police Department…"

"We've got some serious vandalism to report," Priestly said, climbing out of the van. "Hey, Trucker? What's the address?"

Trucker, dazed, turned to look at him as if he'd forgotten Priestly was there.

"Truck? The address?" he repeated, holding up his phone. Raising his eyebrows he pointed to the phone and mouthed, "POLICE."

Trucker held out his hand for the phone, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. After passing him the phone, Priestly swore again and started walking around the main house. The damage seemed contained to the garage. Leo's place appeared undisturbed. There was no spray paint on it. _Vindictive assholes, _he thought as he climbed the stairs and found the door slightly ajar, also tagged. Pushing his way inside, he stopped short.

"Oh, fuck…" He looked around in horror at the place, his eyes watering at the foul stench from, he guessed, rotting food in the refrigerator. Underneath that odor was the very faint but still detectable scent of marijuana. The place was literally covered in spray paint, the floor inches deep in random garbage. Paperwork, newspapers, clothing, broken furniture, empty bottles and food containers…just a ton of crap coated so much of the floor Priestly wasn't sure what color the carpet was underneath it all.

He hiked through the mess to the little kitchen and almost lost his stomach in it from the overpowering aroma of spoiled food. Unwashed dishes sat reeking in the sink. He darted backwards as several roaches skittered amongst the trash on the counters and floor.

The bathroom was equally hideous with cat litter and feces just dumped on the floor. The toilet, tub and sink looked like they'd never seen Comet or bleach or any other cleaning supply.

He didn't really need to look to know that the bedroom was in a similar state…debris everywhere, spray painted…the works.

Trucker was in the living room looking utterly shell shocked, already on the phone to Leo, talking in quiet, apologetic tones and rubbing his head like the worst migraine ever was coming on. Priestly followed him as he went into the main house to make absolutely sure everything was okay in there. He started tugging on each window to make sure they were really still locked and secure. "Yeah, man," Trucker said softly. "So far, things look okay in here. The door was still locked, the windows aren't broken…Priestly's checking to make sure they're all locked, though."

Priestly and Trucker moved through the house. Trucker poked into drawers and checked inside closets, apparently on Leo's directive. "Yeah, still here," Trucker said in response to whatever items Leo was asking about. "Who's your insurance company?"

Priestly went back outside, leaving Trucker to talk business with Leo. He circled the exterior of the garage building, sighing heavily. Man. He just didn't understand people. You don't pay your rent, you get kicked out. Why feel like you have to shit on your landlord? How was it Leo's fault they didn't pay their rent?

"Down on the ground!" a voice called as Priestly, distracted, came around to the front of the building. "Down on the ground!"

Alarmed, Priestly threw his hands up and froze at the sight of two huge guys with guns just as Trucker said, "No, officer, he's with me! We're the ones who called…"

"Stay where you are!" One officer shouted, his weapon drawn.

The guy didn't need to worry. Priestly wasn't going to move unless he lost his breakfast, which was a very real possibility. Trucker had his hands up now, also.

It took a few minutes to straighten out, but eventually Priestly and Trucker were able to put their hands down and show them around the property. The police took dozens of photos, but they felt confident there were no fingerprints to be had. Trucker, still somewhat stunned by the severity of the destruction, agreed with the officers that he was in contact with the homeowner and arrangements were going to be made for repairs as soon as possible. Trucker told the police what he knew and promised to provide the officers with the evicted tenants' rental contract. The police, in turn, advised they would try to locate the former tenants for questioning, but since there were currently no witnesses, it was unlikely there would be any arrests.

As the squad cars pulled away from the curb, Priestly just looked at Trucker. Apparently, angry Trucker was actually not much different than ordinary Trucker, unless you looked hard enough. His eyes got dangerous, even if his voice and his manner were still at mellow hippie level to all outward appearances. Even though it wasn't aimed at him, Priestly felt a little zip of fear sizzle down his spine when he met Trucker's gaze. He shook his head and asked,

"So, what now? Do we have to wait for the insurance company, or what?"

Trucker sighed. "Let's go into Leo's," he gestured to the porch. "I need to sit down for a minute and figure this out."

They sat at the kitchen table as Trucker explained Leo wasn't sure what to do. He'd had a water line in the house break the year before which had caused over ten thousand dollars worth of damage. He was afraid his insurance company would cancel his policy if he filed another loss so soon and had asked Trucker to send photos and see if he could get some estimates for the repairs so he could decide whether or not he could afford to just fix the damage on his own.

"The funny thing is, after that water line thing, I was coming by here every single day," Trucker shook his head. "I _just_ fell out of the habit again, and look what happens?" He put his head in his hands. "I can't believe this, man. But I know what he means about his insurance. Last thing he needs is to get cancelled."

"That's a lot of work, though, Trucker," Priestly argued. "It'll take a month of working just on Mondays to fix this place up. And even then it'll probably be twelve hour days."

Trucker sat in silence, his hands steepled, and thought for several minutes. "You think between me and you, though, we could do it? I mean, you said you had experience working on Habitat houses, right?"

Priestly nodded. "Yeah. But those are new builds. It's a little different rehabbing. I mean, I know how to do it. It's not the work, really. It's the time. You can't leave the grill long enough." He thought about it, too. "I can do the cleanup alone, but I'll need help pulling the floors and putting the new ones down. And I don't know how to do the glass at all. I can board the windows, but I need another pair of hands with that, too." He scratched his head.

"So, first we have to shovel the garbage out, and after that we probably have to just take up all the floors, right?" Trucker ignored him on the question of what to do about the grill.

"I'd say yes," Priestly made a face. "Well, no. First, we empty out the fridge and freezer, which will have to go because you'll never get the rot smell out of it. We need to at least do the empty today. That'll take care of enough of the smell that we can work in there without asphyxiating. Then we board up the windows until we can get someone over to replace the glass. Later on we'll have to shovel the place out or at least clear a path so we can get the fridge out. After that we take up the floors. And then we bug bomb," he shuddered. He could handle bugs, but in his mind, roaches weren't just bugs. The way they moved, darting all over the place, creeped him out. Just seeing one made him feel like things were crawling on him.

"Ok. Then what? The walls?" Trucker asked, writing each item down on a tablet.

"Patch up the walls where the doorknobs went through," he agreed, "and then Kilz 'em and paint 'em. New floors, general finish cleanup inside. Then the outside."

Trucker called different glass companies for bids and then Priestly called to arrange for a dumpster to be delivered to Leo's the following day. After a trip to the hardware store for a box of trash bags, a big garbage barrel, and various other items and a quick stop at Walgreens for some Vick's Vaporub, they returned to the rental.

Trucker laughed at him for buying two cheap set of coveralls and two pairs of bright yellow dish gloves.

"Dude," Priestly shook his head, "You're going to thank me later."

Before they pulled on their gloves for the clean out of the kitchen, Priestly amused Trucker by slathering a thick layer of Vick's under his nose. But it was his turn to laugh as Trucker skipped the Vaporub and marched on into the kitchen, dry heaved, and then marched right back out again to dip into the jar. Once they were in the kitchen, Trucker tossing the crusty dollar-store dishes into a plastic garbage bag while Priestly tackled the freezer, Trucker asked him,

"If you did Habitat and those are new houses, how do you know about this Vick's thing?"

Priestly shook his head, unsmiling. "I didn't learn that at Habitat. I learned it working at the soup kitchen all summer. Except you just put a little up your nose where no one can see it." He watched the understanding come over Trucker's face. They exchanged a solemn look. Priestly turned back to the bloody mess of the freezer full of what had to be half a thawed cow.

"Fucking dumbasses," he muttered, tossing package after package into the tripled up garbage bag he held. Remembering the soup kitchen, he grumbled, "Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. You could feed everyone for a week with this stuff."

Once they had the fridge, freezer, and kitchen sink cleaned out, Priestly moved into the bathroom to get rid of the other big smell: the cat litter and feces on the floor. Trucker bagged up more of the debris from the floors. When they finished with that, Priestly went out onto the landing outside and dunked his gloved hands into the bucket of hot bleach solution he'd prepped. Then he stripped off the gloves and sat them on the railing, holding them down with a large rock from the overgrown yard.

Once Trucker had done the same, they searched Leo's garage for plywood and a drill, glad to find there appeared to be nothing missing from inside. Priestly found a circular saw under a tarp-covered workbench, but he'd forgotten about a measuring tape. Trucker managed to find one in a junk drawer in Leo's kitchen. After helping him measure the broken windows, Trucker disappeared while Priestly cut the plywood to the proper sizes.

Finishing the cuts, Priestly searched out Trucker and found him on the phone with Leo again. Since they seemed pretty deep in conversation, he just headed back up to the apartment to bag some more trash, donning his gloves again. Looking around, Priestly figured that once it was clean and fixed up again, it would be a pretty cool place. Almost a straight shot to the beach in one direction and not too far from the grill in the other direction. He had a hard time believing the rent would be within his reach even with any breaks Leo would offer for upkeep and maintenance. From what he'd seen in the classifieds, he'd be lucky to afford a studio anywhere in Santa Cruz at all.

With a wistful sigh, Priestly crept forward on his hands and knees, using one hand to hold the garbage bag open like a big, hungry mouth and the other to sweep the trash in.


	13. Start of Something Good

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

* * *

Trucker was just finishing up some paperwork in the back booth when Priestly burst into the shop Tuesday afternoon to start his shift. The kid was probably feeling as wrecked as he was after spending the rest of their only day off taming Leo's overgrown front and back lawns and weeding the flower beds that nestled at the base of the porch. Leo's yard was a lot like his own, narrow but deep, and it wasn't so bad to maintain unless you let it go for too long as the tenants had. Worse, Priestly had gotten up earlier than usual that morning to meet the guys from the city to make sure they put the dumpster exactly where he wanted it, stating there was an art to the proper placement of a trash bin.

Trucker gathered his paperwork and followed Priestly only as far as the front register.

"Did you get the dumpster where you wanted it?" Jen asked him.

Priestly turned around and flashed her a Cheshire grin. "Yes, I did." He puffed out his chest and crossed one arm in front of his body, superhero style. Trucker saw the front of his red, white, and blue t-shirt: _Welcome to the Capitol Hill Café. _

He watched Priestly tip his chin at Joe in greeting and saw Joe nod curtly at Priestly, reading his shirt. Joe looked momentarily puzzled by the innocuous slogan. Once Priestly passed him, however, the back of the shirt became visible: _That's not mayonnaise! _it read, with a large, ominous white splotch in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation mark. Trucker chuckled, but Joe just called out,

"Clinton was a far better president than either of these Bush yahoos!"

Priestly, who'd gone into the back to wash his hands, came out front in search of an apron. "No argument," he agreed, nodding at Joe. "The economy was better under Clinton, the unemployment rate was down..." He waited a beat. "And Monica was down…" He winked at Joe, missing the murderous look Joe shot at his back. "Anybody seen my apron?"

Sally pitched it to him underhand. He gave her a rakish grin. "Betcha were a softball champ, Sal, back in the day."

She giggled girlishly. "I was," she agreed, rounding the counter with a loaded tray.

Trucker watched their exchange, amused by their banter. Priestly and Sally had a humorously affectionate working relationship. Every day he pretended to harbor a mad crush on the woman who was old enough to be his grandmother, and every day she pretended to let him down gently. Their flirty dynamic entertained the regulars to no end and charmed the casuals and the one-timers.

Priestly and Joe, on the other hand, worried him. For some reason, Joe seemed bothered by Priestly in general. Whether that was his appearance or his manner, Trucker wasn't sure. The two just didn't dig each other. One issue was that Joe was territorial about the grill area. He didn't like anyone in his space. He barely tolerated Trucker's presence there even if they were extremely busy. Priestly in his space was out of the question. From day one, Priestly had figured it out and busied himself in the front of the house bussing and cleaning tables or helping Jen at the counter or register until Joe left each day at three, after which he took over the grill.

Trucker noticed, however, that in spite of these things, the tension was mounting at the grill. He didn't like it. Beach City Grill was supposed to be an easy-going, mellow place for people to chill out with good food and good people before continuing on with their day. He couldn't have anything driving the customers away. Not that they were to that point. Still, he knew the friction between Joe and Priestly was like a bomb waiting to go off. What he didn't know was how to diffuse it. Trucker worried about it as he left to meet the first of the glass companies at Leo's house for a bid.

* * *

"Watch and learn," Priestly told him, carefully going over the rail at the garage apartment landing and stepping down onto the edge of the trash bin. "Alright," he said, jumping down into the empty bin with a loud, echoing bang. He'd pulled the edge of a Tyvek tarp around the railing and had fastened it to the railing with a staple gun. Now he was duct taping the other end of the tarp to the bin so that it formed a sort of chute for the debris.

"Cool," Trucker said, watching him finish. "Now how're you going to get back out of there?"

"Easy," Priestly said, putting his foot up on a lip Trucker hadn't noticed before and vaulting back up to the top of the dumpster before jumping carefully down onto the driveway. "Okay, I'll see you later at the grill. Thanks for helping me set up the chute."

Trucker nodded, but he didn't move to leave. "Look, Priestly, can I talk to you for a second?"

Priestly heard something in his voice. He looked at Trucker and began to feel uneasy. "Sure," he nodded slowly.

"Let's go into the house for a minute," Trucker said, leading the way into Leo's. The sense of unease built until suddenly Priestly wondered if he'd done something wrong, if Trucker was going to fire him. And when he opened with, "We need to talk about things at the grill…" Priestly's heart began to hammer. But he forced himself to keep still and say nothing. He maintained eye contact and waited.

"Look, I know you and Joe aren't fond of each other. And in case you're wondering, this is a conversation I'm having with both of you because you're both in this and contributing to this. You just happen to be first, because we're here. And then I'm heading to the grill and I'm going to sit Joe down before we open."

"Trucker, I–"

Trucker shook his head. "Let me finish. I've been watching, and I see that sometimes Joe doesn't handle the sort of back and forth we get into very well. He makes it personal and you don't. I see that, Priestly. But you also don't know when to back off and just let him cool down. I'm not saying you can't talk current events or have a little fun. The grill is a democracy, not a socialist regime. But maybe you could be the bigger guy and just let things drop when Joe starts to lose it. It'd be a favor to me. You get what I'm saying?"

Priestly nodded. "Sure." It irritated him. Why the hell couldn't Joe just deal? But he'd try. He owed Trucker that much and more. He didn't have to like it.

Trucker was watching him. "Don't look like that," he smirked. "I'm not steamed at you. Either of you. But we need to keep the grill mellow for the customers."

"Okay," Priestly agreed. "I'll play nice. But can you tell him to stop being a grill Nazi and let me help when we get busy? A couple people walked out the other day."

"I noticed," Trucker said, rising. "It's already on my list. Keep track of the time. I might let Joe out early today to head off any residual anger after our conversation."

Priestly stood up, too. "Should I come early?"

"Would you mind? Maybe two instead of three?"

"Okay."

Priestly stayed behind while Trucker left for the grill. The second glass company was coming in an hour. He hoped to clear out the rest of the debris so that he and Trucker could start the flooring removal the following Monday. He watched Trucker leave then turned to head upstairs, pulling on the dish gloves for another round with the roaches.

* * *

Priestly worked off any irritation he felt about the whole Joe thing, putting his energy into shoveling shit. More than once, he had to shake off a cockroach that got a little too personal. Finally, he just stood and swore at the top of his lungs, shaking in revulsion. "God!" he ranted, feeling like things were still crawling on him, stomping hard when he saw another of the fuckers racing around in the muck.

"Holy shit," a voice said behind him, and he turned to glare at the intruder before he remembered the glass company.

"Yeah," he nodded, the sight of the glass company logo on the guy's polo forcing him to end his tirade. "Hey, man," he held his hand out.

"James Burke," The glass guy took his hand.

"Priestly," he answered, shaking it.

"Tenants did a number on you?"

"Not me," he replied, "but yeah."

Although he had the measurements and the type of glass from the prior company's bid, Priestly knew the guy would want to take his own, so he said nothing as the dude started measuring. He just kept scooping stuff into garbage bags. He thought he could get the living room garbage picked up before going back to Trucker's to shower for work. Then he'd have the bedroom to clear before he could pull the floors with Trucker next Monday.

Once the glass guy left, Priestly tucked the bid into his back pocket and finished with the living room. Then he swore viciously as he realized he was going to have to run to make the bus back to Trucker's. He hurriedly locked the door and barreled down the street. Both of the corner houses were built on a grade with retaining walls about 4' high and then hedges planted along the edge so that on the south corner, he couldn't see if the bus was coming. On the north corner, he couldn't see that he was headed for a collision.

This time he landed on top of her. Of course, initially, all he saw was a flash of red and all he felt was the force of his body colliding with something. He became aware of two things at once: his bus rolling by, and Jude's surprised face as she shoved him off of her.

"Hey, Jude." He smirked at himself as she rolled her eyes at his words. "We have to stop meeting this way," he grimaced, glancing over at her. This time, thankfully, she was wearing a helmet. She looked over at him with equal parts irritation and mirth. "Fuck…" he said, watching his bus leave. He stood up and held a hand down to her, much like last time.

"So, what brings you to _this_ street?" she asked, brushing herself off.

"Long story," he said, still looking down the street after the bus as if it would somehow make time rewind. He looked up and down her long, tanned limbs for damage and then up at her face. She had eyes the color of weak sun tea and paper-straight blonde hair tipped in goth black, like it had been dyed at some point long ago and had been growing out ever since. He'd missed that the last time, somehow. She wore a snug red top and short black cutoffs. A serpent tattoo wound around her upper right arm like a permanent jewelry cuff. She smirked at him.

"Finished checking me out?" she deadpanned.

He shrugged. "Just looking for collateral damage."

"Really? Not sizing me up for other reasons?" she asked, obviously eyeing his shirt, which read _I lost my virginity. Can I have yours? _

He felt his face warming and smiled sheepishly.

She laughed. "Relax, Priestly, I'm just yanking your chain."

"Hey," he said apologetically, "I'm glad I still didn't break you, but I just missed my bus. I've got to get out of here. Can I run into you again at the park tonight?"

She chuckled. "Better not. I don't know how many more of these collisions I can withstand. If you can give me ten minutes, I'll meet you back here with my car, give you a lift."

"Cool," he nodded. "Thanks."

She showed up shortly after in a black Beetle with a red lightning bolt zagging from the back to the front.

"Nice car," he said, folding himself inside.

"Where to?" she asked, not waiting for him to buckle up before pulling away from the curb.

He gave her the name of Trucker's street, which she recognized. "What are you doing over here?" he asked. "I just assumed you lived near the park."

"I do, but I'm house-sitting for my aunt while she's out of town. How about you?"

"Fixing up some rental damage for a friend."

They sat in silence for a minute and he listened to the song playing.

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing to the radio.

"It's a CD of local bands. That song is by Swingin' Utters. _Nowhere Fast._"

"Nice," he said.

"They play at The Catalyst sometimes."

"I've been there," he nodded. "I saw Good Riddance there last month."

"Me, too."

They talked about various bands they liked and discovered they had a lot of favorites in common. He was a little disappointed when she pulled up to the curb in front of Trucker's place. "Thanks, Jude," he said, unfolding himself from the small car. "Seriously, you going to be at the park tonight?"

"Probably," she said. "Just don't actually run into me."

"I'll try not to," he agreed, closing her door. Not one to linger, she flipped the car around and was around the corner again before he closed the front door.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry if you got a lot of weird notices. Noticed some continuity errors and could NOT allow them to remain! Then, once I fixed them, was being a pain in the a$$ and wasn't letting me re-load the chapters! ARGH!**_


	14. Take Me There

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Ten Inch Hero or the characters, blah, blah, blah, feeble attempt at legal CMA.**_

* * *

After closing the grill for the night, Priestly caught a ride with Trucker but had him stop at the corner so he could saunter over to the park. It was windy, and the crowd seemed thinner than the week before. He could already hear the music, and it sounded like someone decent was playing. Something alternative and a little emo, but still tolerable. He just started walking the same loop as the week before, figuring Jude would eventually pass by. He listened to the music while also listening for any warnings from behind. The only warning he got, though, was a sudden smack on the ass that made him nearly jump out of his shorts.

Jude bounced backward on her wheels so that she faced him again as he walked toward her, and she waited for him to catch up. The corner of his mouth popped up at her satisfied smirk.

"_Free to Lay?" _She read his latest shirt, styled after the Frito Lay logo. "What happened to the one you were wearing this morning?"

He shrugged. "I was sweating like crazy working on the rental place, so I changed before work."

"How many jobs do you have?" she asked, tipping her head to the side.

"Just one. Beach City Grill. The other thing…that's just a favor for a friend." Although, truthfully, if he was going to make it on his own he was going to have to think about a second job to supplement his income.

"I've been to Beach City Grill before," she nodded. "Good sandwiches." She rolled off the sidewalk, gesturing to him to follow. A group was just leaving, vacating a picnic table. Jude stepped up on the bench to sit on the table top and began removing her skates, shrugging out of the backpack she wore. Priestly settled next to her. "I have three jobs," she told him.

"Yikes," he said. "I can barely keep straight with just the one."

She shrugged. "Well, one is seasonal, down at the boardwalk. I run the bumper cars two or three days a week. I teach tourists to surf Saturday and Sunday mornings. And I groom dogs for Paw Zone on weekend afternoons. I'm trying to save for school."

"You going to UC?"

"Nope," She shook her head. "Bryn Mawr. It's a women's college in Pennsylvania." She laughed at the look on his face. "It's a family tradition," she shrugged. "So, I just wanted to be up front about that," she said, her eyes serious in the dim light from a nearby globe light. "I'm leaving in September, so even though I enjoy running into you…" She trailed off. "I don't believe in long distance…things. They don't work out," she shrugged.

"Well," Priestly answered slowly, understanding what she was saying, "it's only the middle of April. So we can have some fun before you go, right?"

Her mouth quirked upward at the corners, her expression taking on a relieved cast. "Right," she nodded, slipping on a pair of Vans before tucking the skates in the backpack. They sat on that picnic table just talking for about a half hour before Jude said, "Hey. Let's walk over to Joop's for some ice cream."

"Joop's? Where's that?"

She smacked his thigh. "I'll show you. Best ice cream in town. Seriously."

When she stood, he was startled to see that off her skates, she was still nearly as tall as he was. Of course, a lot of her was leg. He hated the term Amazonian, but even he had to admit…it fit her. She was tall and solid and strong. Not at all overweight, but not what anyone could refer to as delicate. He fell into step beside her as she started walking toward the southeast corner of the park.

Joop's was a tiny little storefront two blocks away from the park with a walk-up window and no indoor or outdoor seating. You just went up to the window, ordered, paid, got your order and got out of the way. The lines were long, the patrons impatient for their frozen fix. Jude ordered a two scoop waffle cone with mint chip on the bottom and cake batter on the top. Priestly ordered a single scoop of butter rum in a cake cone.

Jude licked her cone, her eyes on him expectantly. Priestly thought about refusing to taste his ice cream just to see what she would do, but watching her watch him while she licked her ice cream made him suddenly and distinctly uncomfortable, so he turned his attention to his own cone, half biting, half licking it.

"Awesome," he said after rolling the soft lump of cool, buttery ice cream in his mouth until it melted. "Tastes like a frozen butter rum lifesaver."

She grinned, catching a glob of ice cream that missed her mouth and slid down her chin. Watching her lick the goop from her fingers also made him edgy, so he turned his focus back to his own dessert, only glancing up at her when she nudged him and tipped her cone toward him, offering him a taste. He took one, and she tested his.

"Wow," she said, her eyebrows rising. "I've never had that one. It does taste just like the lifesaver."

"And that tastes just like frozen vanilla cake," Priestly nodded. "I think you might be right. This is some of the best ice cream I've ever had."

They made their way back to the park. Lightning flashed out over the ocean and the wind came and went in gusts. Jude looked up into the darkness. "I think we might get rained out," she said when the lightning flashed again, allowing them to see that the sky was thick with clouds.

"Maybe," he said, hearing the soft growl of thunder.

The crowd on the lawn had thinned out since they'd left for Joop's, but the band was still playing, so they decided to stick around to listen. Since they'd been sticking to mostly superficial stuff, Priestly was surprised when Jude asked,

"So, what's the deal with your family?"

"The deal?" he asked, stalling.

"Well," she shrugged, "my mom freaked out when I dyed my hair black last year because I wasn't eighteen yet and her rule was always 'not until you're an adult'. She made me grow it out, and she wanted me to cut off the black part as soon as it was long enough, but before it got long enough, I turned eighteen. I was just wondering if your parents were anything like my mom and how they reacted to your hair."

Priestly smirked up at his hairstyle of the day. He'd begun alternating between his normal Mohawk, liberty spikes, and just a super messy tousled style. He kept using the dyed gel every day, but in various colors. Today his hair was set in blood red liberty spikes that matched the red of his copycat logo tee. "This came after I left home."

"Where's home?"

"Latimer," he answered, wishing he could find a way to change the subject. The ice cream made him think of his Mom, anyway, because of the homemade vanilla they made each summer. He didn't want to go there.

"Where's that?"

"Mississippi," he answered. "What about you? Where are you from?"

"Daughter of two native republican Californians. A rare breed," she added. Then she shrugged. "I'm in my 'rebellious phase'. That's what my mother says," she snorted. "She's a psychologist specializing in human development. She's always putting people in neat little boxes with neat little labels." Jude gestured with her hands as she spoke. She stuck her tongue out and sighed. "Who knows? Maybe I am."

He studied her in the next flash of lightning. He thought about telling her about his father, but he didn't. He just let her go on about her mother and father, who divorced when she was fifteen. "What about your father? How did he react to your hair?"

She made a face. "He thought it was cool, and his girlfriend did, too. Mom almost killed them both when they bought me the serpent tattoo for my 18th birthday."

He chuckled. "That's cool," he said, studying it more closely than he was able to before.

"I'm thinking about having my nose pierced," she said cheerfully. "But I think that might actually kill my mother, and I'm not sure I want her dead. I just want her to realize this is my body, you know? It's up to me what I do to it and what I wear on it."

He nodded. He did know. all too well. He grew up feeling the same way and feeling just as irritated as she seemed to when other people tried to impose their own shit over such matters.

They both jumped as a loud crack of thunder split the sky and the first few raindrops began to fall. He looked up at another flash of lightning. Looked like the storm was almost right over them. "I'm staying just behind the park," Priestly said, pointing at Trucker's back fence in the distance. He realized with some embarrassment that Trucker probably had some sort of back gate and rather than walking from the corner as he'd done that night, he probably could have just gone through there, instead. "Or can I walk you to your car?"

"I don't have it," she shook her head. "I skated here."

"All the way from your aunt's?" he asked in disbelief.

"No. My house is in the neighborhood behind Joop's!" she called out as the raindrops became a downpour.

She followed him to Trucker's back fence, where in the next flash of lightning he found the gate. When he reached up for the latch, he discovered Trucker had it padlocked and realized too late it was probably to keep out burglars. "Up for a climb?" he asked, already vaulting up to the top of the fence, grateful that instead of having dog-ear style boards Trucker's were flat with a rail cap.

He took her backpack and reached a hand down to help her. Coming down the other side was considerably easier since it had the cross rail. They slid a little on the wet grass since Trucker's lot sloped downhill and when they made it to the deck, they were both soaking wet. Trucker's porch light was on and of course the motion light had kicked on. Priestly winced wondering if Trucker was asleep and whether it was going to light up his bedroom like the fourth of July. Jude looked at him and laughed.

"You look like you're bleeding all over the place."

He glanced upward and touched his spikes. Oddly, they were still mostly in place but the color had obviously bled. He thought about going through the house dripping red droplets everywhere and about the fact that they might stain. Not good. He ducked out of his shirt, grimacing at the thought of possibly ruining it with the red gel color, but he'd take that over ruining anything of Trucker's. Priestly quickly wound the shirt around his head and tried the sliding glass doors. Locked. He should have realized.

The gate leading from the front of the house to the back yard was also padlocked, which Priestly hadn't considered. "Wait here," he said as he pulled himself up on the gate, "I'll go around and unlock the door." Jude nodded.

Priestly grabbed a couple of dark colored towels from the linen closet in the hall bath on his way through the house before passing Trucker's closed bedroom door. He figured Trucker was up because the guy seemed to be a light sleeper and the storm was loud, but there was no light visible under the door. He pulled the dowel from the track and slid the door open, handing Jude one of the towels. "C'mon in," he whispered.

"Roommate?" she whispered back.

"Yeah," he nodded, putting his finger in front of his lips. She nodded.

He took her into the guest room, flipping on the light and closing the door.

"You surf?" she asked, checking out the _Endless Summer_ poster. He shook his head.

"My roommate," he explained, toweling off his hair. The sponging destroyed what was left of his spikes, so he just rubbed like crazy until his hair rearranged itself into the messy style he wore when he was late or feeling too lazy to 'hawk it.

"God, I'm freezing," she said toweling off, and he realized her teeth were chattering.

"Shit," he said. "Let me get you a shirt."

Priestly grabbed a long sleeve tee from the closet and passed it to her. Before he knew she would do it, she pulled her clingy red top right off. His eyes were instantly drawn to her belly button. "Holy crap," he mumbled, mesmerized by the belly ring with the dangling charm. Cherries. She laughed and threw the towel at him. "That is super sexy," he breathed helplessly, catching the towel.

"Turn around," she said, gesturing in a circle with her hand. "I need to take my bra off, too."

He gave her a wicked grin but turned back to the closet to grab himself a dry shirt. He chose a black one, pulling it over his still damp hair. That way any color transfer would be invisible.

"Okay," she said.

He grinned. "You look cute in that," he said after glancing at it. In large letters, it read, _Life gave me melons. _The tiny fine print below it said, _(I'm dyslexic.) _ He laughed at the unintended double entendre of the first statement. "Good thing the second sentence is there," he chuckled, "Otherwise, you'd just look like you were bragging."

She looked down, holding the shirt out to read it. She laughed. "Oh, my God. I'm so glad my mother will be asleep when I get home. Knowing her, she'd completely miss the fine print."

Priestly offered her his army jacket. "Let's go sit out on the front porch and wait for it to stop raining."

Sitting on the top step together, they just watched the storm for a few minutes. Jude broke the silence.

"Priestly?"

"Hmmm?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Are you ever going to make a move?"

He blinked at her in surprise. Of all the things she might have asked... Her eyes danced in amusement as he realized she'd been giving him signals all night...her greeting, the ice cream, pulling off her shirt without asking him to leave.

"Hell no," he joked. "I'm a gentleman." When she barked out a laugh, he gave her a mock wounded look. "Ladies first," he dared her huskily, watching her eyes darken.

Her hand snaked around to the back of his neck, drawing him closer to her until their foreheads were touching and he could feel the heat of her breath against him. Her lids slid closed as her mouth fell against his. His last thought as he took it deeper was that his current t-shirt was dead on: _The road to Hell is paved with everything that feels like Heaven._

* * *

_**A/N: Since this is rated 'T', that's all you get! I'm already pushing the envelope on the language, based on the ratings descriptions. Shoulda thought about that before I rated this. Oh, well. Use your imaginations! ;p Although to be clear, Priestly still has too much of his upbringing in him to take it "there" with Jude yet. (Don'tcha love the silliness of me giving backstory on a fanfic? HA!)**_


	15. Chances

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

Thursday was Priestly's day off, so Trucker hated to ask him to meet the last of the three bidding glass companies at Leo's at noon, but since he'd be working the grill himself after Joe left at three, Trucker wanted to get some surfing in. Surfing always gave him a buffer against the natural stress of a busy restaurant. He wasn't sure he even really needed a third bid, given that the other two were so similar, but it was already scheduled so he figured he'd probably just better leave things as they were.

Priestly just shrugged when Trucker asked if he could do it. "Yeah, I'm going there anyway to finish cleaning out the bedroom so we can pull the floors on Monday."

"You don't have to do that on your day off, man," Trucker protested.

"Better than doing it before work," Priestly countered, "and it has to get done. I didn't have any big plans today, anyway."

"Come by the grill for lunch on me," Trucker said.

"You don't have to do that," Priestly mimicked with a teasing grin. But Trucker knew he'd come by. He never asked for but also never turned down a free sandwich.

Trucker finished his orange juice and wondered if he should ask about the girl he'd seen with Priestly the night before. After the storm woke him from his usual fitful sleep, he'd gone to the French door at the corner of his bedroom to check it out just in time to see Priestly cresting the back fence. In the flashes of lightning that followed, he caught sight of another person climbing the fence. A person with curves and long hair, he'd noticed with some amusement. He'd forgotten to give the kid keys to the padlock.

Remembering now, Trucker pulled open the junk drawer and tossed a key ring down on the table. "Make a copy of each of these today, will you?"

"Sure," Priestly said, pocketing the keys.

"That way you don't have to climb the fence next time," Trucker called over his shoulder, heading for his room to get into his wetsuit. If Priestly made any reply, he didn't hear it.

* * *

Priestly knew that the living room in the garage apartment was bigger than the bedroom, but somehow, shoveling out the bedroom was worse. With the windows boarded, the place was like a cave, and even having the front door hanging wide open didn't shed enough light in the room. Turning on the kitchen and bathroom lights didn't help much, either, so he was forced to enter Leo's house to borrow a floor lamp.

Maybe he only imagined the whisper of things crawling around in the piles of trash, but it grossed him out and made him itchy enough that he stopped to put on a pair of the coveralls. He'd really only meant to use them once he started painting, seeing as how he didn't have a full wardrobe even now and hated to ruin anything. Not for the first time, he also wished he had a radio to play some music.

He worked until he heard a voice call out, "Hello? Anybody home?"

Priestly peeked around the corner of the bedroom into the living room. "Hey, man," he said, stepping out.

"Wow," the guy said, taking in the tagging all over the walls.

"Yeah," Priestly agreed. "Stupid tenants."

"No doubt," the guy answered. "I'm Jay."

"Priestly," he nodded, shaking the guy's hand. "I'm in here," he pointed, "so just come on in, do your thing, and drop the estimate on the kitchen counter."

"No problem," Jay agreed.

Priestly saw him drop the estimate sometime later and took that as a cue to take a break. He tied what felt like his millionth garbage bag and wandered over to the kitchen counter for the bid before stepping out onto the landing. He took off the coveralls and tucked the bid in his back pocket without looking at it. He'd give it to Trucker when he headed down to the grill for lunch.

Outside, the weather was mild with a refreshing breeze that almost made him cold as it whispered over his sweaty skin. Twisting the cap off a one liter bottle of water, he sucked about half of it down before coming up for air. That made him think of Jude and of kissing her the night before until he had to come up for air. He grinned.

Just as he was sliding back into the coveralls, his cell phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hi," Jude said through the static.

He held the phone away from his face and moved it around, trying to find a better signal. When he found one, he said, "I was just thinking about you."

"Where are you?" she asked.

"A few houses down from that corner we collided at yesterday," he answered.

"Working on the rental?"

"Yup. What are you doing? You working the bumper cars today?"

"No. Tomorrow," she replied. "I was just calling to ask if you wanted to catch Green Day tonight at The Catalyst. I was supposed to go with a friend, but she's sick and can't go, so I have a spare ticket."

"Yeah, sign me up. What time?"

"Nine."

"Meet you there?" he asked.

"I can pick you up," she offered. "The house from last night? Behind the park?"

"Yeah."

"I have to go, but I'll pick you up at seven-thirty so we can grab something to eat first."

"Okay. See you." Priestly waited for her to disconnect and then put his cell phone back in his pocket and zipped the coveralls. He sent fifteen trash bags down the makeshift chute into the dumpster. Then he stood in the half cleared bedroom and shook his head. It felt like it was taking forever to clean the place up and that was only the trash from the floor. He still had floors, the bug bombs, the walls, and a serious scrub down to do before the place would be considered inhabitable by even the most lax standards. And that was just the inside.

Though his stomach complained, he finished clearing the trash from the bedroom before stopping for the day. It was almost two in the afternoon by the time he finished sending the last of the garbage bags down the chute and locked up the apartment. He stripped out of his coveralls, putting them back in the garage with his gloves before remembering Leo's floor lamp was still in the apartment. Rolling his eyes at himself, he considered leaving it there. He was hungry and didn't want to trudge back upstairs. After deciding it wouldn't make a difference if it stayed there for a couple days, he remembered to double check that Leo's house was locked before he headed over to the bus stop to take Trucker up on the free lunch.

* * *

The Catalyst was loud and crowded, as always. Green Day was a big draw ticket. Jude ran into a group of her friends and introduced him around. Someone put a beer in his hand. Since he couldn't have gotten one on his own, he accepted it for the gift it was and raised his glass with the others. About halfway into the concert, they moved upstairs because one of Jude's friends wanted to play pool and finally secured a table. They spent the rest of the show there before moving to Denny's.

Priestly didn't talk much. He mostly just listened to the conversation. It was one of the many harmless things he missed out on in his father's home, just hanging out and bullshitting until the wee hours of the morning when everyone got too tired to continue. He had more fun just being there with them than he'd ever had on any given night in Latimer. In the car, however, Jude asked him if he was okay. She looked worried.

"Yeah, fine," he said, yawning. "Why?"

"You didn't talk much," she shrugged. "Was it not really your thing?"

"No, it was good. I just didn't have much to say for once," he joked. She smiled sleepily.

"Well, that's a change from most of the guys I know," was her retort. "You guys make fun of how much girls talk but then you don't let us get a word in edgewise." She leaned over and pressed her mouth against his in one of her trademark offbeat segues. They spent a few minutes kissing at the curb in front of Trucker's house before Jude pulled back and made a face. "I've got to get up early tomorrow."

"Someone has to run the bumper cars," Priestly agreed, kissing her again.

"Someone does," She nodded, pushing him away with a regretful smile.

"Alright, alright." He yawned again. "That was fun. Next concert's on me," he added. "Figure out who you want to see and let me know."

She waved, zipping into a tight U-turn.

* * *

For Priestly the next few weeks became a blur of continued repairs on Leo's place, his shifts at Beach City Grill, and Jude. Especially Jude. Every Wednesday they met in the park, no matter who was playing. She talked him into skating with her, which nearly ended in disaster the first time out. No matter what anyone said, rollerblading wasn't like roller_skating_, which Priestly had done many times before and was fairly good at. A thin strip of wheels underfoot did not feel the same or maneuver the same as four fat wheels balanced across the top and bottom of the foot. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

Jude had a way with conversation, pulling the story of life in Latimer out of him before he realized she was doing it, though he did not discuss the events at church or Deacon Bennett. Her story was similar in some ways, with her mother being the micromanaging control freak and her father being the submissive member of the pair, at least until he tired of not getting to wear the pants in the family (as Jude called it) and left them. Without her father there to be the voice of reason, she grew steadily more miserable. She began to do as she pleased, which resulted in a good many fights until finally, when she was sixteen, she ran away from home.

"I lasted a week on the street before I had a very close call," she said seriously, lying beside him on a blanket in the park while Gravedigger's Union, a local metal band, hammered away on stage. "A guy pulled me into an alley. I don't want to think about what would have happened if I hadn't had pepper spray on me. But it was sort of insult to injury, you know, calling the cops for help only to be in trouble for running away."

"That sucks," he agreed softly. "What happened?"

"Mom came and got me, and she grounded me for about a year, or so it felt. You'd think after all that she'd ease up on me a little, but we had a few more huge knock-down, drag-outs and I almost said screw it and took off again, but you know what finally did it?"

He looked at her in the dim light from a street lamp. Her eyes were glittering. He squeezed her hand, which rested in his. "What?"

"I told her Dad said I could come stay with him if I wanted, that he'd challenge the custody order."

"Shit," he said softly, suddenly understanding the look on her face. Jude was just a pawn in a nasty game as far as her mother was concerned. Rather than let the ex win, her mother conceded at least one defeat in that stupid game.

"I can't wait to go away to school," Jude continued bitterly. "I'd already be out if it wasn't for the fact that I know I'm going to need some serious money once I'm in Pennsylvania. My tuition and my books and the dorm are covered, but I know Mom won't send enough extra for me to live on, and Dad's too busy buying his girlfriend off to keep her around to remember me at all. If I don't take care of myself, I'll starve to death and stink inside a month."

He grimaced as she snorted sarcastically. He had no idea of these secrets of hers until she told them. She always seemed upbeat and cheerful and unaffected. Shit. No wonder she wanted to go. And no wonder she wasn't big on long distance relationships when her short distance role models were doing so well.

Priestly carried that conversation with him as they continued getting to know each other. It helped to understand why she didn't believe in anything long distance, but he couldn't help feeling like a clock was ticking. Soon, he couldn't help wondering whether he could change her mind and whether he even wanted to try. He liked her. He enjoyed her company. But she was pretty clear on all fronts, occasionally mentioning September as if to remind him or maybe herself that there was an ending looming. Still, it didn't stop her from sharing affection with him, so he was determined not to let it stop him, either, even though something nagged at the back of his mind. Something about whether or not it was okay to proceed in the direction things seemed to be going when September would bring things to a grinding halt, anyway.

Somehow, though, life itself kept intervening whenever they started to cross those muddy boundaries at the back of his mind. Her phone would ring or his would. If they were at her house, her mother would come home. If they were at Trucker's, Trucker would or someone would ring the bell. Usually nothing important, but usually enough to distract them or just ruin the mood, especially if it was Jude's phone that rang. She'd gripe about her mother and the fact that she was eighteen and should be able to do what she pleased. He understood the reality of being eighteen and still under your parents' roof, so he couldn't argue if the mood was broken.

She accompanied him as he got his first tattoo, a nautical star. When he first chose it, she asked, "Why that one? Does it mean something?"

While they sat in the lounge area waiting for one of the artists to finish with his current client, he told her the story. "One Sunday at church, my father asked for anyone who felt particularly lost or in need to come to the front. He did that sometimes, and usually there were no takers, so he'd just say something about everyone being lost in some way, in need in some way, afraid in some way. I think after a while he stopped expecting anyone to come up there. But one day a guy, a Marine still in his fatigues, comes to the front." Priestly sighed remembering it.

"What happened?" Jude asked when he paused a little too long.

"My father asks him what's hurting him, what guidance he's hoping for. The Marine says he's been home for a couple months and he's having a tough time putting it behind him, can't find a job, can't sleep. So my father has him kneel down to pray, and when the guy does, the sleeve on his camo jacket slides down his arm a little and you can see he's got a nautical star tattoo on his left wrist. My father starts guiding him in prayer. Everybody in the church has their heads bowed down and their eyes closed except for me. I'm watching him with the soldier, who also has his head bowed and his eyes closed. So he continues on praying, and I'll never forget this…" Priestly said, shaking his head. "He says, 'Lord, guide this young man to understand your word, forgive him for marking himself and help him turn back to you.'" Priestly swore at the memory.

Jude looked at him, waiting.

"The guy actually opened his eyes and looked at my father like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. I never saw him in church again after that. Latimer's a pretty small town, so it was a pretty small church." Priestly just looked at her, holding her gaze for a few moments before rubbing his left wrist. "I read somewhere that it's a symbol of guidance and finding your way home, you know, back to the compass and sailing and people getting lost at sea and stuff." He didn't tell her it had meaning in that sense for him, too. For not being lost at sea, himself.

"Whoa," Jude said softly. She looked pained.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she shook her head.

"No, what?"

"I don't really go to church, so I might be wrong, but isn't it against religion to get a tattoo at all?"

He thought about whether to give her the long answer or the short answer, whether to go over literal interpretations of the Bible versus conceptual interpretations. He thought about whether to explain that the practices mentioned in Leviticus 19:28, which was the passage everyone used to claim God forbade piercings and tattoos, were not the same as today's practices and meant completely different things. "The short answer?" he asked. She nodded. "Depends on your interpretation of the Bible."

Jude nodded. "Are you getting it on your wrist like the Marine?"

He shook his head and tapped the top of his right arm. They waited in silence for the tattoo artist. Then he sat in not-so-much silence and teasingly bit Jude's fingers as the needle hummed, stinging him like a million angry bees.


	16. Happy in the Meantime

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

For the middle of May, it was warmer than expected. Trucker stood sweating in the driveway at Leo's place, camera in hand. Priestly had done most of the work, and he'd done a good job. You couldn't tell anything had happened from the outside. Inside you could only tell because of the changes to the flooring and paint. After pulling the floors, Priestly had changed their game plan. Dealing with the graffiti on the kitchen and bathroom cabinets and countertops was his next task. Thankfully, when Leo added the garage apartment to the property, he'd invested in quality materials. The cabinets were solid wood, so Priestly was able to strip and refinish them. He updated to a more modern color of stain while he was at it, with Leo's blessing.

He'd had several conversations with Leo as they went along about easy care materials. Although sheet vinyl could tear if you were too rough with it, it was hardier than carpet, especially if someone were to put down area rugs. Leo wasn't crazy about putting vinyl down in the entire place until Priestly mailed him a sample of a product that looked like wood planking. After seeing it and thinking about it for a few days, he gave Priestly the go ahead to put it down in the entire apartment. Trucker had to admit, the kid had a good eye. He liked the look of wood floors, and this was an inexpensive method of attaining that look.

Anyway, the finished product indoors was handsome from the wood-look floors to the freshly painted walls and updated cabinets. Trucker thought he'd burn up his camera with all the photos he took. Outside, the place looked like it always did. The garage door had been replaced. After sending photos back and forth and talking with the local graffiti task force at the police department, the verdict was to repaint the siding rather than try to spot remove it, given the large amount of surface area affected. The match to the main house wasn't perfect, but it was close enough.

The last phase of the project, which he and Leo had just completed the night before, was figuring out what to charge Priestly for rent, given his extensive work on the place. Goram had some friends in the construction business in North Carolina, so Leo asked him if his friends could ballpark what the damage would have cost to repair based off of the 'before' photos and the glass invoice he had to show them. What he got back was shocking. Trucker was astounded by the cost, though he was assured by Goram that they were conservative and that they took into consideration that it was one guy doing most of the work.

Surprisingly business-minded, Leo e-mailed him a cost breakdown with a proposal for Priestly's rental contract. Given that he was a wheeler-dealer, Leo undercut the figure provided by Goram's friends, offering to deduct it from the rent in a prorated amount each month rather than applying it all to the front of the lease. But the result was that Priestly would be crazy not to take the deal, especially once Leo added back in a further potential deduction for the "maintenance and lawn care" option. Despite everything, Leo was still willing to offer that option to his tenants. Or, at least, to Priestly.

Once Trucker finished up with the pictures, he headed over to the grill. Priestly was working that afternoon. Trucker thought about stopping back at home to pick up Leo's proposal, but he decided against it. After that first day at the grill, Priestly never made any references to suggest that he lived at Trucker's, so Trucker took his cue from him. If he offered Priestly a ride home, everyone just thought he lived nearby. Priestly seemed to prefer it that way for some reason. Maybe because he was afraid he might have to explain more than he wanted to about how he ended up at Trucker's, or maybe he was worried that Joe would complain about favoritism.

Joe. Trucker sighed. After having the same conversation with Joe that he'd had with Priestly, he'd hoped things would change. Joe very reluctantly allowed Jen or Priestly to fix cold sandwiches next to him or dish out the soups if they got slammed, but he still wouldn't let anyone but Trucker himself assist with the grill work. He very clearly preferred to allow Jen into the cold station. Still, the inch he gave helped just enough that Trucker hadn't noticed any other walkouts. Joe's tolerance of Priestly's daily topics of conversation, however, was iffier.

The regulars loved Priestly's daily arrival. They loved to see what his latest shirt would say and were disappointed when he wore something he'd worn before. He just teased them back that until they started tipping better, he had to wear what was clean. They also loved his daily topic, which was either ridiculous or serious depending on his mood. The regulars often piped up with their own two cents. All too often, though, Joe took offense to something Priestly said and would start grumbling. Trucker hated to put an end to it because the customers enjoyed it so much. To be honest, he also enjoyed Priestly's quirky perspective on things, himself, even if he thought the kid was crazy sometimes.

Trucker started to wonder if Joe was just jealous of Priestly's popularity with the regulars, with Sally, and with Jen. Everybody seemed to like him except Joe. Everybody seemed to accept that Priestly was just who he was and that he wasn't out to annoy or harass, even if they ended up feeling annoyed or harassed on occasion. More than once the lively "topic of the day" debates had gotten heated between Priestly and one or two regulars, but everyone seemed to take it in stride except Joe. No matter what side Priestly was on, Joe seemed to be on the opposite. If things escalated, Joe would call out to Priestly,

"Man, you're just ridiculous! Why don't you just shut up now and let everyone eat in peace? Nobody wants to hear your opinion."

That became the cue. Priestly would shrug and grin at whatever customer he was mixing with at the moment and then he'd just move on to the next order or clear the next table. Often, the customer he was debating with would end up coming to his defense, which seemed to make things worse.

Trucker turned into the alley behind the shop and pulled the van up near the dumpster as always. He wondered if he was going to have to fire Joe. He hoped not. He really, really hoped not. He really hated firing people. It was much easier when they walked away, like No-Show David had done back in January.

"Hi, Trucker!" Sally chirped cheerfully as he came in through the back room. His mood lifted instantly, one of many reasons why he liked having her around. And one of many reasons he dreaded her one day making good on those threats to retire to Florida.

"Hi, Angel. What's new?" he asked, glancing around the restaurant as he usually did when he first got in. Mr. Julius was back in his corner. Eddie and Diane were at the banquette in the front window working the crossword together. Mel Shipley was in his favorite booth, reading the paper.

"Same old, same old," she called out, picking up a tray laden with sandwiches and sodas.

"Joe," Trucker said as he passed. He just nodded, saying nothing, and flipped the cheesesteaks he was cooking. "Jen."

"Hi, Trucker," she said absently, smiling at a customer who'd just stepped up to the counter. "Hi," she greeted softly, her usual friendly but subdued self.

Trucker checked the morning's tickets. Sales had been brisk again, which his wallet liked and which filled the tip jar, but it only served to remind him he needed more staff. Not less. He needed to continue to hold off on taking any action on Joe. As he flipped though the tickets one more time to be sure he'd added right the first time, movement across the street caught his attention.

"Hey," he said, turning his head toward Sally as she breezed past him again, "what's going on across the street?"

Sally paused on her way back out to the tables. "Tim's closing down," she said sadly. "I told him to be sure he comes by to see you before it's all over."

"Man!" Trucker shook his head. "It's like the end of an era. First Pinky's, and now Stabler's?" He frowned. "I got probably half of my furniture at Stabler's!"

"I know," Sally agreed. "Scooter and I got our new living room set there a couple years ago."

Trucker thought nostalgically of Pinky's, the corner drug store, complete with soda fountain, that got edged out of town by the appearance of Walgreens and CVS stores on almost every corner. "Did Tim say whether there's already a new tenant lined up?"

"Nope," Sally said with a heavy sigh.

Trucker stood watching as a pair of huge men loaded item after item into a truck. Finally, when he could take no more of the sight, he pushed open the door to the grill and headed across the street.

* * *

"Heeeeeeeelllllllo!" Priestly called, strutting into the grill.

Sally flashed him a grin on her way around the counter. Trucker glanced up from the day's mail. Jen peeked around the side of the laptop's screen with a small wave. Joe just shook his head.

"Hi, Priestly," Lucille smiled up at him from her word puzzle, scratching her mutant Chihuahua, Bam Bam. Even for a Chihuahua, he was the tiniest dog Priestly had ever seen. He could pet the little guy's head with one finger and still feel like he was overpowering the dude. Of course, since petting dogs and slinging sandwiches were not a good combination, he always made a point to give the dog a scratch on his way to the back _before_ scrubbing up to start his shift.

"Hi, Lucille," he answered, chucking Bam Bam under his tiny chin. "Bams, how ya doing? Any bigger yet?" He pretended to measure the dog. "Nope, still world's smallest dog." He peered at Lucille's usual puzzle, something called a Cryptogram, where a number substituted for a letter like a code you had to break. He pointed to the number 12 and said, "T."

"Already tried that," she smirked. "Didn't work."

"Eh," he shrugged, moving on to the opening in the counter closest to the back room. He was in a good mood. Hell, a great mood. Leo's place was finished as of yesterday. He'd literally finished painting the last of the garage trim yesterday afternoon before going out with Jude to celebrate. He took her out, told her she could choose the place.

She'd chosen Dom Foodery, a local "make your own dinner" cooking studio. That evening's class was part of an ongoing "Cinco de Mayo" celebration, which for Dom Foodery, lasted through all of May. The instructor, a woman named Guadalupe Ana de Perez, had a thick accent and was a lively, funny teacher. She set everybody straight from the start.

"Who here thinks Cinco de Mayo is Mexico's independence day?" she asked. Several people raised their hands. "Get out of my class," She joked, pointing to the door. "The rest of you gringos can stay." As she started them stemming and seeding pre-marinated chiles, she said, "No, Cinco de Mayo isn't like your 4th of July. It was actually an underdog victory for Mexico. After the French army stomped on Veracruz in 1861, they started making their way toward Mexico City, but they didn't know what a bunch of pissed off Mexicans can do. The French army, which was twice the size of the Mexican army, made it as far as my hometown of Puebla before they got their _culos _handed to them on the 5th of May, 1862. Sorta like a Mexican David and Goliath story."

Her twisted smile made Priestly chuckle as she added, "Of course, they took their _culos _back the following year and crushed us like bugs in Mexico City, but we don't like to talk about that." The class laughed along with her. "Anyhow, in honor of that half-assed victory, we're making _Tortas Ahogadas_, which means 'drowned sandwich'. It's got nothing to do with Cinco de Mayo, I just thought some drenched, chopped meat was an appropriate parallel for what happened to Mexico." The whole class laughed erupted in laughter again.

At Guadalupe's command, they moved from chopping the chiles to chopping tomatoes to dicing onion. Jude and Priestly worked well together. So much so that he joked he wished she worked at the Beach City Grill.

"You can take over for Joe," he joked. Jude laughed. She'd heard plenty of stories about the "grouchy grill guy", as she called him.

The vegetables were sautéed in oil with cumin, oregano and a tiny bit of nutmeg. While that mixture was simmering, they pan fried carne asada and cut it into bite sized pieces before carving out _bolillo _rolls until they resembled little hollowed boats into which they stuffed the meat before smothering it with the spicy tomato sauce. Between the two of them, Jude and Priestly finished every bite of the jumbo sized drowned sandwich, which Jude jokingly called the "ass handed to you sandwich". Guadalupe overheard that and fell into a fit of laughter.

Cooking with Jude had been fun enough, but it was what came after that had him grinning. As they left Dom Foodery, she pulled an apologetic face and said to him, "I don't want the night to end here, but I have to go check on the dog." She was house sitting for her aunt again, which now also meant pet sitting after her aunt adopted a Laborador from a rescue group. "Want to tag along? We can go to the beach or someplace after."

"Sure," he shrugged.

Their plans fell apart after they walked Hoover. Kissing led to hands wandering which led to mouths wandering, which led to a dizzying spiral of hands and mouths and breathlessness and laughter and shutting the dog out of the room so he wouldn't keep sticking his nose in unwanted places, followed by more hands and more mouths and more dizzy breathlessness until he found himself flat on his back beside her on the guest room bed, both of them gasping and sweaty and boneless. But that, as great as it was, wasn't what had him smiling. It was Jude's voice next to his ear as he drifted toward sleep, whispering,

"_Oh, my God_…_how am I going to give you up_?"


	17. Shut up!

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

"Priestly!"

He looked up from the various sandwich fixings sizzling on the grill to find Trucker waiting for his attention with an amused smile. And apparently he had been for some time, judging by the way he stood with his arms crossed.

"Are you going out with Jude tonight after we close?"

"Not tonight," he shook his head. "Girl's night," he explained with a shrug.

"Good. Leo's got a lease proposal for you to look at for the apartment."

Priestly nodded. He was still nervous about that, wondering how he was going to afford to live there. He kept checking the rental pages in _Good Times_ and he continued to be crestfallen at the amounts people were charging for rent in even studio apartments. He wouldn't be able to swing anything without a second job, he didn't think. And then there was school. He hoped to start at UCSC in the fall, if only at the rate of one class at a time. He'd dutifully turned in his financial aid applications back in March. The award notices were due at the end of the month. Since he couldn't rely on his parents, he hoped to at least get a little financial aid.

He built and wrapped the latest round of sandwiches on autopilot, then turned to slide them onto the counter behind him. "Marty!" he exclaimed, seeing one of his favorite regulars heading for the counter.

Marty, a short middle-aged black woman with beaded braids, checked out his shirt. He just happened to be wearing the _Mount and Do Me_ shirt he'd been wearing the day he'd met Trucker. Her face split into a huge grin from which her trademark booming laugh erupted. "Baby, if only I had the strength!"

He cocked an eyebrow at her and smiled but said nothing other than, "Which one will it be today? A little Tuna Melt love? A nice big Spicy Italian?"

"Not today," she shook her head. "Today, we goin' Greek," she said decisively.

"Veggie Greek or Beef Greek?"

"Child, you know I don't do just the rabbit food!" She scolded as he turned toward the grill with a chuckle. He did know, but he loved to razz her.

"Opa!" he called cheerfully, tossing the beef down on the grill and shaking salt and pepper over it before drizzling the olive oil vinaigrette over it. He listened to Trucker and Marty exchange greetings and small talk as he finished her sandwich. "In or out today, Marty?" he called out.

"In," Marty answered.

He plopped her sandwich in a basket and filled a dipping cup with horseradish, lemon yogurt dipping sauce before sliding the basket to her. "Tea?"

"You know it," she agreed.

"Go sit down, I'll bring it to you."

When he sat the cup down next to her, she leaned toward him with a soft question, her eyes bright and teasing. "You finally get some alone time with Miss Jude?"

He chuckled and glanced outside, feeling his face grow a little warm. Maybe joking around with Marty about Jude hadn't been the best idea. It wasn't that he volunteered information, it was more that Marty would rib him, and he'd toss back innuendos. But he guessed she'd picked up enough truth from them, because now she hooted with laughter.

"Priestly, I never figured you for the blushing type," she teased.

Ducking his head bashfully, he just shrugged and turned to go back to the counter. It was easy to be brash when he was talking in the abstract. Talking about real people was another story. Marty let it drop. She wasn't above shouting across the entire grill if she'd wanted to continue their conversation, so he was grateful.

The rest of the evening continued on in the same fashion…joking with regulars, bussing tables, cleaning up during lulls. The usual. When Trucker flipped the sign over and locked the front door, Priestly was almost done cleaning. Jen was already prepping food for the next day, so he took care of the dishes while Trucker balanced the register and checked their inventory so he could decide on the next day's special sub. When they were ready to leave by twenty after, Trucker was surprised.

"Good job, guys," he said. "Let's get out of here." Priestly was grateful when, as always, Trucker played dumb and asked, "Jen? Priestly? Anybody need a ride?"

Jen shook her head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Trucker let her out the front door, locking it again behind her before following Priestly out the back to the Causemobile.

* * *

Trucker watched Priestly read over Leo's lengthy rental proposal with a dazed expression. After finishing, Priestly looked up at him warily.

"Are you sure this is right?"

Trucker chuckled. "You want it to be wrong?"

"No," Priestly admitted, rubbing his left eye. "It just seems so…reasonable."

Trucker cocked his head. "Leo's a reasonable guy. Don't undervalue what you did over there, Priestly. That was a lot of work."

Priestly tipped his head. "I guess. I don't know, it just didn't bother me. I like fixing things."

"Work isn't work if you like what you're doing," Trucker agreed. "Leo said if it's a deal, you can move in June first. That gives you some time to figure out furniture, I guess."

"Right," Priestly nodded.

"My gift to you," Trucker said lightly, "is the lovely old futon you've been sleeping on. If you want it."

Priestly grinned back at him and put his fist in the air. "Hell, yeah! Double duty furniture," he said. "Couch by day, bed by night. And eventually, once I have a regular bed, it can be a dedicated couch."

Trucker slid out of the old booth in the corner of the kitchen and tossed a pen on the table. "Sign it and bring it to work tomorrow so I can go over to Stabler's and get Tim to fax it to Leo for me."

"I can fax it someplace on the way," Priestly offered.

"Nah," Trucker waved it away. "Tim's a sucker for tomorrow's special. I'll give him a freebie, he'll send the fax."

"He's getting the better end of that deal," Priestly joked. "Unless it costs five bucks to fax five pages."

"It's not about money," Trucker shrugged, already missing Tim's presence in the neighborhood even though Stabler's wasn't closed down quite yet. "It's about scratching backs, looking out for your neighbors."

"True," Priestly agreed. A few moments later, he heard the kid clear his throat hesitantly. "Hey, Trucker?"

Trucker looked his way as he grabbed them each a beer and popped the caps off the bottles.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you all this time." He opened his mouth but closed it again. The kid still had trouble showing any depth of emotion, no doubt the result of years of living with a father who criticized everything he was about.

"Any time, Priestly. I mean it." Trucker just watched him. "You're a good guy, don't forget that. If you need anything, you know, once you're out there on your own, just ask."

As always, uncomfortable with the alien feeling of too much affection, Priestly moved past Trucker to duck into the guest room. But he gave Trucker's shoulder a friendly pat on his way by him. Trucker supposed that was a step in the right direction.

Trucker sat out on the back deck for a long time that night, just thinking about life in general and how odd and random things could be. The funeral that took him to Washington, the decision to surf before heading back to California. Considering any number of places but just happening to choose Perdido Key on the exact day that a kid named Priestly nearly ended his own life. Weird. Weird how everything was connected, everything was dependent on everything else for its own outcome. He thought back to the bizarre and mind bending discussions he used to have with Leo, Butch, Mike, and Goram about that very sort of thing…about connections and the million ways life could be different if things didn't unfold in just the way they had. He remembered the single semester of college courses he'd taken, one of which went into chaos theory and the butterfly effect. How an action as apparently meaningless as the flapping of a butterfly's wings could set off a hurricane weeks later. While he wasn't sure about that chain reaction being possible, he couldn't deny the unsettling oddity of the two of them being at the same point in time to keep the kid's life from ending in the Gulf of Mexico.

Trucker sighed, smiling grimly. He'd never had any kids of his own, never thought he'd cared to. But now, knowing Priestly, he was almost sorry he hadn't. He liked the guy. And, if he were completely honest with himself, he was going to miss having him around the house. He was mostly okay with being alone with his thoughts, but sometimes it was nice just having another presence between these four walls, even if they barely said boo to each other. Still, he couldn't expect the kid to not want to live on his own, especially not after nineteen years of being under his father's thumb.

Trucker thought of the man he'd seen only briefly back on that afternoon in March. Everything about the guy had screamed uptight, harsh, and unyielding. Maybe he was nosy, but Trucker maintained he was just taking the trash out when Priestly's voice rose to an angry shout. He was proud of the kid for telling his father how he felt. He probably should have expected the guy to haul off and deck Priestly the way he did, given that what little Priestly had told him about his father was dark, but being witness to it rattled him quite a bit. So much so that he couldn't quite move himself quickly enough to step in before the kid had taken a second blow. He was still rattled by it, actually. You read about abuse in the papers, and you heard about it on the news. You knew it happened. You just never actually _saw_ it happen.

He'd seen red over it, actually. Came _thisclose _to going ape on the guy. Keeping control of himself had been one of the hardest things he could remember, but somehow he sensed that the last thing Priestly needed to see was more callousness, more violence. Violence wasn't the answer to violence, after all. Trucker knew that very well.

He dropped his head back against the seat cushion on his high-back patio chair. He needed to go surfing. He felt like he'd missed a week, but he'd just been two days ago. Then again, since Priestly, he seemed to need to surf more often. He worried more often. Hell, he just _felt _more often. So maybe he knew a little bit about what it was like to be a parent, even if he hadn't raised someone since birth. And now, already, it was time to let go, let his charge move out on his own.

Trucker sucked down the last of his beer and just sat in the dark feeling time pass, hearing a clock he'd never listened to before suddenly tick very loudly. Life was funny. If you'd asked him twenty-five years ago, he'd have said he was just fine with things as they were. Now, however, he wished he hadn't been so messed up back then. Maybe he'd missed his chance for kids, but had he also missed his chance to find his soul mate, a companion to weather life's ups and downs with? Friends were one thing. He had good ones. Great ones. And the kids that came and went at the grill, he could be satisfied with looking out for them, cheering for them, and lending whatever questionable wisdom he'd acquired if they wanted or needed it. But what about that other half of himself, the half he'd been consciously missing for at least the last several years? What about that?

* * *

Jude stroked his face. She'd taken to staring at him, just staring for several long minutes as if to memorize his face, and he did his best not to look away when it got too intense. She'd teasingly turned it into a sort of contest, but even though it made him laugh, he still frequently became overwhelmed by too much feeling and looked away. But this time, when he tried to look elsewhere, she captured his mouth and his focus changed completely.

When he came up for air, he asked with a gasp, "So, what'd you get up to last night with your friends?"

"You want to talk about that now?" she asked, dipping her head to run her tongue along his Adam's apple, which drove him nuts for some reason. He shivered.

"No," he agreed, pulling her on top of him. She was still in her board shorts from the morning's surfing lessons, and he toyed with the drawstring at the waist before sliding his hands along her bronzed thighs. He loved her thighs, especially the way the muscles flexed as he changed his mind and ran his hands up her sides, drawing her snug tank top upward with them. She lifted her arms to help him, ducking out of it so that she was left with her bikini top. Her lips curved sexily as she felt his very enthusiastic reaction to the sight of her removing it, too.

Drowning. That's what it felt like when she bent to him, put her lips on his and pulled him under. Drowning, but in the best possible way. He didn't remember anything after just leaping off the cliff except for dread as he fell. He didn't remember the impact of the water or anything else until suddenly he was barfing on the beach. He knew drowning couldn't really be so pleasant, yet it was the only way he knew to describe the heady breathlessness of tumbling and rolling around on the bed with Jude. It was a sensation of being utterly out of control and not caring even a little.

And her sounds. Jesus, he could lose it just listening to her react to his touch, his exploration of her. It was like his body was an amp…the slightest utterance from her resonated everywhere inside him at once. He loved to just touch her and taste her and feel the sounds she made move in him and through him, driving her higher and higher until she sighed and gasped and bucked under his hands and mouth, until she trembled over the edge and almost took him with her.

She curled into him, sought him with her hand and found him ready and aching. He closed his eyes and lost himself in her touch, with that distressed whisper of hers from the other night echoing in his head.

* * *

When he next became aware of anything at all, the light had changed. Shadows had crept into her aunt's guest room that hadn't been there before, and Hoover was whining behind the closed door. He lifted his head and checked the bedside clock.

"Fuck!" he cried, leaping off the bed and waking her.

"What's wrong?" she croaked, rubbing one hand over her face.

"I was supposed to be at work like twenty minutes ago!" He panicked. He'd never been late. Or, well, not _this _late. Five, ten minutes, sure. But just leaving Jude's aunt's place at twenty after three meant he wouldn't get to work until about a quarter to four.

He pulled his clothes on with one hand, dialing the grill with the other. When Sally picked up, he felt worse instead of better. "Sally, is Trucker there? I'm running a few minutes late. I'll be there by four, I promise."

"Trucker's here, but we've got a line. I'll tell him. Quick as you can, Priestly," she urged, hanging up on him.

"Shit!" he moaned, stuffing his feet into his shoes as Jude bolted out of the room to get Hoover outside. He took the stairs too fast and almost did a face plant.

Jude, God bless her, drove the way she always did…efficiently and a little maniacally. For the first time he was completely grateful for it rather than amused and a little afraid. He pushed open the door to the Beach City Grill at 3:40 with a line to the door and everybody working at Sally's pace, which wasn't usually necessary. He felt his face burn a little as Jude darted into the shop to give him his phone, which he'd accidentally left in her Beetle, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before darting out again. He gave Lucille a grin on his way past but left Bam Bam alone, literally jogging into the back room to wash up and tie on his apron.

"I'm sorry, guys," he said as he edged past Joe to take over at the cold station so Jen could get back to the laptop to check for new orders and also take orders from the counter.

Everyone accepted his apology except Joe. Priestly could feel the anger coming off of him like heat waves. So when one of the regulars asked, "What? No topic of the day today, Priestly?" he should have expected what came next. He opened his mouth to answer but Joe turned toward the voice and hollered,

"The friggin' topic o' the day is inconsiderate pricks who are too busy nailing their slut girlfriends to make it to work on time!"

Priestly flinched a little at his insult, hiding a smile when a round of whistles and clapping went up from the front of the house where a group of construction workers sat every afternoon. He just built and wrapped the cold sandwiches and ladled soup as fast as he could while Trucker filled the drink orders. Joe banged the spatula loudly and more violently on the grill as the construction guys asked,

"Was she the blonde hottie in the board shorts? Was that her, man?"

Priestly tried not to answer, but it was like the whole room waited. Finally, as he turned to deposit a trio of subs on the counter next to Jen, he gave the guys a little nod. "I take exception, though, to the adjective," he said loudly so that the whole place heard, narrowing his eyes at Joe's back.

"Yeah?" Joe asked, turning to glare at him. "Well, anyone interested in the likes of a freak like you can't have the highest standards in the world, so I figure she's probably done it a few million times before."

He couldn't fucking ignore it. He knew he should, but he couldn't. Priestly moved up into Joe's precious personal space, looking down at the guy, who was about a head shorter than he was. He didn't lift a hand to the guy, just wished he could flatten the little fucker with just a look. Put him on his ass with a thousand yard stare.

"You watch how you talk about her," he said quietly but vehemently. "You have a problem with me, fine. Let's talk about that. But you don't even know her, so just shut your mouth, Joe."

Trucker put a hand on Joe's shoulder and gave Priestly a hard look that hit him in the gut. "Go home, we can get it from here," Trucker said, pointing Joe toward the back room. Priestly just picked up the spatula Joe left behind and finished with the specials he had cooking.

Priestly waited all afternoon for the lecture, feeling more and more guilty. He had no business losing track of time like that. Trucker had been good to him, and now he'd just made things worse. Joe was a jackass, but he was right about one thing. Priestly was an inconsiderate idiot for showing up late and leaving them in the weeds like that. Everyone else could handle it and get over it, but he could have guessed how Joe would react to working forced overtime because of him and for that reason alone, it never should have happened.

All the way to closing, he sweated it out, wishing Trucker would just get it over with and give him his ration. He was still waiting when Jen flipped the sign on her way out for the night.

"Bye, guys! See you Friday," she said, apparently having the next day off.

"Bye, Jen," he said lightly as if he wasn't halfway crushed under an anvil of dread.

To his surprise, Trucker just locked up the front door behind her and headed for the back room. Priestly followed, shaking his head. Maybe he was waiting for Priestly to apologize, to see if he would or if he'd just duck out of taking responsibility for his actions.

"Hey, Trucker," he said, climbing into the Causemobile, "I'm sorry about being late. I–"

Trucker put up a hand. "It's okay. Just try not to make a habit of it."

Priestly sighed. "I won't. Just…I'm sorry it stirred shit up with Joe."

"Actually," Trucker said, tipping his head, "I thought you showed impressive restraint. I'd probably have decked the guy."

Priestly snorted, so relieved he could barely stand it. "You? Surfer hippie?" He shook his head. "I doubt that."

"You'd be surprised," Trucker said.

Priestly saw Trucker gaze at the odd strawberry shaped pendant with the lightning bolt that hung from his rear view mirror. Somehow, though, he sensed he shouldn't ask. So he just looked out the window as Trucker steered the Causemobile toward home.


	18. Let Down

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

"So Priestly, a little bird tells me you're moving to a new place on June 1st," Sally said when the two p.m. lull hit. Jen called in sick, so Trucker had called him just after opening to ask if he could pull a double shift.

"Yep," Priestly nodded as Sally set the free lunch Trucker insisted upon in front of him.

"Well, Scooter and I have some things in our garage for the Salvation Army that we've never gotten around to having them pick up. If you want, you can stop by and go shopping for anything you might need."

"Thanks, Sal!" he winked at her. "Did I ever tell you you're my favorite?"

She patted his cheek before moving on to clear the table behind his. Turning back, she poked her head down next to him. "Oh, and we've got a pickup truck you can borrow on moving day, too."

He grinned around the sandwich. Trucker. He knew Trucker was up to no good, especially since just yesterday, Jen told him she had a couple of things in storage that she'd inherited from an uncle who died and also offered to let him "shop". Well, he wouldn't say no. He was starting with just the clothes in his closet, a few random odds and ends, and Trucker's gift of the futon, so he'd take all the help he could get.

He suspected Trucker had talked to Joe before he arrived, for Joe had been uncharacteristically silent all day. He didn't make a peep when Priestly burst into the shop and indignantly announced that the topic of the day was "Idiot drivers who nearly run over pedestrians and then yell at them like it's their fault!" Which was exactly what had happened as he'd crossed 8th Street after getting off the bus. Another half an inch and he'd be a stain in the crosswalk.

Joe also said nothing upon reading his shirt of the day: _Sarcasm. Because beating the crap out of people is illegal. _In fact, Joe hadn't said a word all day. He had, however, made frequent use of snorts and eye rolls and vicious dirty looks. Even so, Priestly was able to work beside him uneventfully at the cold station. At the end of the day, or at least at the end of Joe's day, that was all that mattered.

Tim, the guy who ran the furniture store across the street, came into the shop just after Joe and Sally left. Though he didn't know him well, Priestly liked the guy. Whenever he came into the shop, he always had a funny or interesting story to tell or some quirky junk shop find to show off. Today, he came in wearing a t-shirt that read: _The Mystery Spot. _Priestly raised his eyebrows at it. It wasn't like Tim to wear t-shirts. The guy usually wore polos and khakis.

"Hey, Tim. The Mystery Spot, huh? If you think it's still a mystery, you're a little undereducated," he joked.

Tim laughed. "Very funny. Just took the grandkids there last weekend. You ever been there?"

"No, but I've been meaning to go." Priestly said, mentally putting it on his list of things to do with Jude.

Trucker came over to greet Tim and said, "You haven't been to The Mystery Spot yet? Man, that's a total trip. You have to go."

Priestly listened to them talk about Stabler's, which took them into another discussion about the neighborhood. Trucker mentioned Pinky's again, lamenting the fact that it closed down on the day he celebrated the tenth anniversary of the Beach City Grill.

"How long have you been here, Truck?" Priestly asked, surprised that he'd never thought to ask before.

"Since 1988," Trucker said, shaking his head. "Back then, this street was much different. Pinky's next door to Stabler's, and then that goofy surf shop on the other side of him, the import auto parts place that turned into the bakery and then into the tax place and then the massage place…" Trucker laughed with Tim. Priestly got the feeling, based on their reactions, that it was more than a massage place.

"Those were the days," Tim joked. "I'm going to miss this street. But the furniture business isn't what it used to be, and I'm getting too old for this stuff. Neither of my useless kids wants to take over, so, here I am…selling off."

Priestly chuckled. He knew from past conversations that Tim's eldest son was a doctor and his youngest was playing hockey on a farm team somewhere in Canada and that he couldn't be prouder of either one. He often joked they were turning their back on the empire he built for them, but Priestly knew he was only kidding around. He was moving up to Washington state because it would be closer to both of his sons.

"What'll it be today, Tim?" he asked over his shoulder, finishing up two specials for a phone order.

"Hmmm," Tim said, obviously reading the specials on the whiteboard propped at the end of the counter. "Good stuff today, hard to choose." After another moment, he said, "Let's do the buffalo chicken 6-inch meal. To go." Priestly nodded and started on it before handing the phone order to Trucker.

The hours passed slowly, even with the occasional busy spurts and the normal comings and goings of their regulars. By closing, Priestly thought he'd go crazy if he stayed in the grill much longer. It was the first double shift he'd worked, and he hoped to never have to do it again. Trucker seemed to notice and said,

"I can close up tonight, if you want to take off."

He whipped out his phone and called Jude so quickly Trucker laughed. But once he was off the phone, he said, "I'm yours until she gets here, Captain, so what's the priority? Prep? Dishes?"

Trucker looked around. "Prep," he decided.

Priestly cut up the sandwich veggies and put them in fresh bins, handing the day's empties to Trucker and combining the leftovers in the different combinations that helped make up the next day's soups. He just barely finished when Jude's Beetle pulled up to the curb. "Truck? Want to lock up behind me?" he called to the back room, where Trucker was washing dishes.

At the door, Priestly was just stepping over the threshold when Trucker said, "Apron!"

Priestly looked down, rolling his eyes at himself. He tugged the end of one string and handed it to Trucker, who smirked at him and then winced.

"You might want to make it an early night," Trucker suggested. "I don't know that I won't need to ask you again tomorrow. Jen sounded pretty bad on the phone."

Oh, man. He hadn't considered that possibility. Sighing, he nodded. But it sure took some of the relief out of his freedom.

He forgot his feeling of dread, however, when he ducked into the passenger seat next to Jude and she gave him a smile.

"What's the plan?" Priestly asked her after a quick kiss.

"Well, you remember Patrick and Kelly from the Green Day concert?"

He nodded. "Patrick's the guy with the old black frame GI glasses and Kelly's his girlfriend, right?"

"Yep. They invited us to play pool over at Mojo's."

"Cool. Can we get in?"

Jude flashed him a grin. "We're going to try." Less than five minutes later, she suddenly did a u-turn. "Crap!"

"What?"

"I forgot! I have three of Patrick's DVDs. He's leaving for Europe for the rest of the summer tomorrow, and I'm leaving for school before he gets back. Is it ok if we swing by my house first?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "I'm in no rush."

She pulled up to her house a few minutes later and bounced out of the car. "Coming in?"

"Yeah, what the hell."

That decision turned out to be a mistake. As he entered the house behind her, Jude stopped short so that he collided with her, propelling her forward so that she nearly fell on her face. "Mom," Jude said, her voice registering shock. "You're home. I thought you were going to be in Oregon for a few more days."

"The conference was a waste of time and money," the woman answered. It was so odd. The woman was a picture of Jude, of what she'd be someday. Same height, same long-legged and generously curved body, yet she had none of Jude's cheer, none of her healthy glow, and none of her open warmth. She looked at Priestly the way he looked at the cockroaches that skittered all over Leo's rental before the bug bombs…warily and with a good measure of disgust. "Hello," she offered coolly.

"Hi," he answered, trying to keep looking at her instead of the walls, the floor, the…anything else. "I'm Priestly."

The woman crossed the room, her gaze becoming even more sharp, more assessing. "Liza Morgan," she finally said, just when he was ready to bolt.

He reached out a hand. She just sniffed and stayed where she was. Jude looked at him, and he could see an apology in her eyes. "Mom," she said, "I'm just here to get Patrick his movies. He's leaving for Europe tomorrow."

At the mention of Patrick's name, Jude's mother smiled tightly. "Yes, well, tell him to remember what I said about France."

"I will." To Priestly, Jude said, "I'll be right back."

"Judith, I need to talk to you before you leave." Looking at Priestly, she said, "Privately. Would you mind?" she asked, gesturing to the front door. With a shake of his head, he was completely truthful with her.

"Not at all," Tipping his chin at Jude, he said, "I'll be…" and pointed at the car through the open door, ducking through the opening.

Yeah. Mom liked him. Uh huh.

Ten minutes later, Jude slid into the driver's seat, tossed the DVDs in his lap so that he scrambled after them, put the car in gear, and peeled away from the curb like the police were after her. When he asked if she was okay, she grinned recklessly at him, but he noticed it didn't reach her eyes. Still, by the time they reached Mojo's a short time later she seemed back to her normal self. She leaned over and bumped her mouth up against his, sliding her hand to the back of his head.

Priestly pushed her away because, if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to walk into Mojo's without humiliating himself. Jude just bounced out of the car, calling over her shoulder,

"Just tuck the DVDs under the seat for now…"

He did as she said, following her into the deep, throbbing beat of something techno. The door man didn't even blink, just let them pass. Priestly wasn't sure if it was Jude or him that seemed to get them into clubs without any sort of challenge. Once inside, of course, Jude made a beeline for the bar. She ordered herself a Blue Moon with an orange slice. He ordered a Guinness and paid for both.

Two games later, Jude returned from the bar with her third beer. Priestly just looked at her. She smiled at him and rubbed her hand up under his shirt sleeve, another thing that, oddly, pushed his buttons in a good way. She seemed none the worse for wear. Her shots were still mostly hitting the pockets, which was par for the course. He was crap at pool but liked the game, and he was enjoying exchanging good-natured smack talk with Patrick over who was better at sucking royally. The girls just laughed at them and cheered them on as they pretty much missed everything they tried for.

"Seven, corner pocket," Priestly announced then proceeded to bypass the seven ball for the three, sinking it in the side pocket, instead. Kelly and Jude fell into a fit of helpless laughter. He just met Patrick's smirk with one of his own. "Beat that!"

"Ten, side pocket," Patrick countered, flexing his arms. He spent a good minute setting up the shot, checking the angle, and generally just stalling before knocking the cue into the ten ball as promised. Unfortunately, his geometry was just as bad. The ten bounced into the eight and sent it sailing to the opposite pocket, ending the game. He held up his fists and said, "Victorious!"

Priestly drank the last of his beer and nodded at Patrick. "You want another?"

"Yeah, man, thanks!"

He came back with a Coke for himself and Patrick's Corona. "Where'd the girls go?"

Patrick, watching the baseball highlights on one of the big screens, shook his head. "Probably the bathroom."

But when Kelly came back alone, Priestly asked, "Was Jude with you?"

Kelly exchanged glances with Patrick. She looked sort of resigned as she shook her head. Just then, Jude came back with a Smirnoff Ice. Her lips curled up at the sight of Priestly's Coke.

"Just one beer?" she teased.

He shrugged. "Just taking a break," he told her. "Maybe we should switch," he said, reaching for the Smirnoff. She let him take a pull, but then she reached for the bottle. "Seriously," he said softly at her ear. "Are you okay?"

She gave him a fond look. "Fine," she agreed, kissing him hard so that it shot through him. He tried a couple more times to take over the Smirnoff, but she just danced it back between shots at pool. He and Patrick pretty much sat out the game, watching the girls.

Jude started complaining that it was hot, pulling her shirt away from her chest in beats. He and Patrick and Kelly exchanged looks. Two turns later, she set her pool cue down abruptly and headed for the bathroom. The three of them exchanged another look before Kelly put her cue next to Jude's and hurried after her.

"Shit," Patrick said with a wry grin. "Guess the fun is over."

Priestly nodded. They made small talk about his trip to Europe and their plans for the fall until Kelly came back with a sickly looking Jude in tow. "I think we need some fresh air," she said lightly.

Priestly tucked an arm around Jude's waist and grabbed her little clutch purse in his hand, knowing the keys were in it. She reached for it and he held it away from her. "I've got it," he said easily. "It's not going anywhere."

Once they were outside and around the corner where her Beetle was parked, Jude stopped abruptly, put her hand against the wall, and dry heaved a couple of times. Priestly, behind her, scooped up her hair just in time, wincing as she vomited on the sidewalk.

"Hey, Kel," he said, holding out Jude's purse. "Patrick's DVDs are under the passenger seat. Jude wanted him to have them back before he left."

Kelly took the purse from him. Priestly waited until Jude seemed to be finished, panting but not heaving. He gently released her hair as Kelly returned with some napkins from Jude's glove box, handing them to her discreetly and handing Priestly the keys. Jude just looked at the ground and said softly,

"I'm sorry, Kelly. I'm sorry I ruined things."

Kelly just shrugged one slim shoulder. "We've all been there," she said consolingly, rubbing Jude's arm. "We've got to go now, but call me tomorrow. I want to know you're okay."

Jude nodded, embarrassed. She didn't look at him as he walked her to the passenger side of the Beetle and watched her get in, one hand hovering just over her head to make sure she cleared the door frame. He shut the door gently. When he stuffed himself behind the wheel, she looked out the window. He knew she was feeling awkward and probably a little ashamed, but he didn't know what to say to her. He was afraid anything he said would just make it worse, so he said nothing, just found the seat lever and pushed way back until he could move his feet.

Kelly knocked on the window. He rolled it down and she angled Jude's cell phone so he could read the screen. _Mom, spending night at Kel's. She had 2 much 2 drink. Drove her home. C U tomorrow!_

He nodded and she hit the send button before handing him the phone. "Where do you live? Should I follow?"

Kelly shook her head looking pained. "My parents would kill me. I'll cover for her, but can you take her?"

Priestly thought of Trucker. "Yeah," he nodded. He hoped Trucker would be okay with it. He wished it was June first already. He'd just take her to the garage apartment. But the keys were back at Trucker's and there was no furniture in the place, anyway.

Jude was asleep or passed out by the time he parked at the curb at Trucker's. After a minute's thought, he figured the best way would be to unlock the door, then come back for her. When he opened the car door moments later, she roused a little, looking at him in confusion before looking around.

"C'mon," he coaxed softly, cupping a hand under her knee and guiding her to turn herself toward the door. He guided her arm around his neck and eased backward, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled against him a little, but she held herself up mostly by herself and she was able to take her purse from him.

She swayed a little as he guided her up the driveway, up the porch steps, and over the threshold, but she made it on her own two feet. He eased the front door shut and engaged the lock as quietly as he could, knowing that even so, Trucker was probably awake to hear it in his room. He never intruded or accused Priestly, but he always made comments later that let Priestly know he knew what was going on, like the night he and Jude had climbed the fence. He figured it was Trucker's way of saying he knew what Priestly was up to but wasn't going to interfere. The silent _but _Priestly understood was, "_But if you do something stupid, I'm going to call you on it."_

He tucked Jude into the futon, unable to worry about unfolding it first. She was asleep almost instantly. He tucked the little waste can from under the desk next to the futon and hoped she'd find it if she needed it. He crept through the house, grabbing a pillow from the sofa in the TV room and poured a cold glass of water from the pitcher Trucker kept in the fridge to set near Jude.

He flopped on the floor by the desk and wondered just what the hell Jude's mom said to her that got her into such a mood. They'd done their fair share of drinking at concerts and at a couple of parties at her friends' houses, but she'd never done anything like this before. She'd always stopped at two, saying she was a lightweight, and she'd always had food and something else to drink in between rounds. Not like tonight where she'd put back one after another without so much as a cocktail peanut in between.

He was no saint, himself. He'd put back enough beer to earn his headaches and nausea the next day. But he'd never been completely toe up the way Jude was tonight. Priestly sighed softly in the darkness and wondered about her demons. He felt September edging closer, then sighed again as he remembered her words the other day.

"Well, not quite September," she'd said, curling her body into his. "School starts September 2nd. My flight is actually on Thursday, August 28th."

"Seriously?" he'd asked her, feeling cheated. She'd giggled at the dismayed look on his face, and then she'd kissed and made everything better, at least in the immediate moment.

Priestly dozed off with a sense of dread which stemmed from wondering whether her mother would discover the ruse, whether Trucker would be pissed at him for having a girl sleep over, whether Jude was going to let him talk to her about the events of the night or whether she'd brush it off, and whether he was going to be okay with it if she did.


	19. You Never Know

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

Priestly was already awake when the knob turned and Trucker poked his face in. It took Trucker half a second to realize he wasn't on the futon and for his eyes to meet Priestly's. He watched Trucker's eyes take in the wastebasket by the futon, still empty as far as he knew, and the glass of water, which had been left undisturbed. Trucker gestured at him to follow. Given that he looked pretty mellow no matter what his mood, Priestly wasn't sure what to expect as Trucker poured himself a mug of coffee and then headed for the back of the house.

Out on the deck, Trucker said nothing for several minutes. When he finally spoke, it was short and to the point.

"You don't need any lectures on taking the proper precautions, do you?"

He, like Trucker, stared out into the sloping back yard. "Nope," he shook his head.

"I can see you didn't take advantage of the situation, so we can skip that part," he continued.

"Yep."

"Do her folks know she's not dead in a ditch somewhere?"

"Taken care of," he agreed.

"Well done," Trucker said, sipping his coffee.

Each of them sat in silence with their own thoughts for a while until Priestly stifled a yawn in the crook of his arm.

"Go back to bed," Trucker said, finishing his coffee. "I'm going to check out Steamer Lane."

Priestly didn't follow him inside at first but when he yawned a second time, he figured Trucker was right. He should try to go back to sleep for a little while, especially if Jen might be out sick again. As he passed Trucker in the hall, he offered another piece of wisdom.

"When she wakes up, give her some hair of the dog."

Priestly met his gaze. "What?"

"Give her a beer," Trucker said. "And then give her a fried egg, a glass of juice, and a banana."

She was still asleep when he went back into the bedroom. Glancing at the floor, he arched his back and wished he'd been able to pull the futon down into a bed. Even so, it didn't take him long to fall back asleep.

He woke again to the sound of a soft groan and wondered if he was starting to take after Trucker, sleeping lightly enough to wake at the slightest noise. Jude seemed to come to a sudden realization of where she was and panic had her bolting up. The hangover had her falling backward again, holding her head and her stomach.

Priestly got up, darted to the kitchen for the beer, and returned to find her blinking at her phone in puzzlement. He realized she was checking for a call or text from her mother and was seeing Kelly's cover story. With a sigh that was either resignation or relief, she put the phone next to the water glass again and rubbed her head.

"Drink," he ordered, offering her the beer. She looked at it and looked vaguely sick. "Drink," he repeated, wagging the bottle back and forth like a dog's tail until she took it just to make him stop.

Making a face, she took a few pulls on the bottle and rose shakily. Handing him back the bottle, she croaked, "Bathroom?"

He showed her where it was, got her a towel, and went to the kitchen to make sure the fridge held the ingredients for Trucker's prescribed breakfast. He listened to her move around. The tap opened, so he held off on starting breakfast. Instead, he went and sat out on the back deck with his phone.

As always, he sat staring at the phone in his hand and wondered whether to call. He'd been calling home once in a while when he was fairly certain his mother was the only one home. Though he'd been mad at her, he'd been unable to forget his father's accusing words. His father answered once and he hung up, then rolled his eyes at himself and wondered if his father would call back. He didn't. He finally dialed. It rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom," he said quietly. Their conversations had been fairly subdued. He didn't mention the church or Bennett, and she didn't, either. She was very cautious when he called, in fact, saying little unless he spoke first.

"Priestly," she said. "How are you?"

"Fine," he replied. "You?"

"I'm well, thank you." After a slight hesitation, she asked, "Are you still thinking about school in the fall?"

"Yeah," he told her. "I'm just waiting to see if I qualify for any aid. I should know soon."

"What do you want to study?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm probably going to get the basics out of the way first," he said, deciding not to tell her that the first class he planned to take was an elective course that satisfied the sociology requirement: World Religions. Bringing up anything to do with religion was probably not a good idea.

"Well, I suppose that's probably best if you don't know what you want to do yet."

The conversation fell flat. He had no idea what else to say, and she waited for some cue from him. "I should probably go," he said, wishing it wasn't so awkward. He wanted to tell her about the ice cream he'd had with Jude and how it made him think of their homemade vanilla. He wanted to tell her about moving to his own place, about Trucker and Jude and Jen and Sally. He missed cooking with her and the way they used to talk. He realized now that it was the only way he'd really been able to talk to her, that they'd probably both used cooking as a way to connect.

Priestly was surprised at how much he missed her when he let himself think about it. Even though knowing she didn't believe him about Bennett, he somehow forgave her for it in a way he couldn't forgive his father. Maybe because she deferred to his father so often, playing that subservient role she played so well. He realized he could forgive her because somewhere at the back of his mind he thought she might actually believe him, somewhere past duty and support for his father. If you stripped those away, he thought she might believe him.

"Priestly?" she asked.

He realized she must have been waiting for him to continue. "Sorry. What?"

"Priestly, will you at least consider coming back for a visit?" The quiet hope in her voice tugged at him. She asked every time, even though the first time she asked he hadn't been away all that long to begin with.

"I can't," he said softly. "You could come here sometime, though," he offered, surprising himself. "See the ocean. Hang out on the beach and read a book."

She chuckled softly. "Oh, I wouldn't know what to do with myself on the beach."

"Well," he said, "I really have to go now." He paused, wanting to say it. In the end, he was too afraid of silence, so he just said, "Bye, Mom. I'll call again soon."

No sooner than he hung up, Jude crept out onto the deck, toweling her hair off. The sun was too bright, though, and she made a face and went back inside. Priestly followed, closing the glass door and putting the dowel back in the track.

"C'mon," he said, "I'll make you breakfast." When she shook her head, he said, "Part two of the hangover cure."

She sat down at the old booth in the corner. "I remember this table," she said. "This was what they used to have in the Beach City Grill back when it first opened."

"Really?" he asked, amused at the thought of 50's diner Formica in the grill. Priestly fried up several eggs, poured them each a glass of juice, and even made some toast, which Trucker hadn't specified but which he wanted for himself. He put two bananas on the table as the eggs cooked.

Jude looked marginally more alive and alert but still pretty rough. When he held up a bottle of aspirin, she nodded. She was saying nothing, offering nothing. "So," he said, setting a plate in front of her, "do I get to know what last night was all about?"

She looked at him defensively. "What? I was having fun. It's no big deal."

"I've seen you have fun," he said flatly, sliding onto the bench across from her. "That wasn't it."

"Priestly, what's the big deal?" She asked exasperatedly around a mouthful of food. "You drink. I've seen you drunk, remember?"

She had. The first couple times they'd gotten into bars without being carded, he sort of went to town on the beer a little, just from the sheer novelty. And her friends had house parties where the stuff flowed freely.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I drink. And I get drunk sometimes and feel like shit the next day," he agreed. "But so far I haven't gotten so drunk I got sick all over the place or passed out. But that's not it. That's not what I'm talking about. Fine, you went overboard." He shrugged. When she just looked at him, forking another bite of egg, he said, "I want to know _why_ you went overboard."

"I told you why," she said. "I was having fun."

"Bullshit," he countered, tossing his fork down so that she jumped. And then something passed over her face and he pointed at her. "There! It's that right there! That look on your face. That's the look you had on your face when you got in the car. That's the thing that last night was all about. What is that thing, that face?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes at him. "What are you, the face whisperer?"

He would have laughed. He wanted to. Usually, the higher Jude's emotions got, whatever emotions they were, the funnier she got. But he forced himself to remain stoic. He didn't answer her, just watched her. He watched the emotions roll through her eyes like scenes across a movie screen. Longing. Fear. Conflict. He guessed she was fighting a war with herself, trying to decide how close to play her hand.

She sighed, sipping the juice. Color was coming back to her face. Trucker's hangover cure appeared to be working. "Priestly," she shook her head wearily.

"Okay," he answered, picking up his fork again. "I get it. I'm just the guy you're fucking until September–-August," he corrected, "so it's none of my business, right? I mean, we're just goofing off, so what the hell."

Jude looked like she might cry, staring down at her breakfast but just moving it around with her fork. He felt like a total ass.

"So, I guess your Mom doesn't want us to see each other anymore," he surmised. "And maybe you're thinking you should go along with it to make things easier before you leave. Is that it? Something like that?"

She gave a little nod, wiping her face with one hand, not looking at him. Fuck. He didn't want to feel it, but it sliced him somewhere deep. He'd been telling himself not to get too far in with her because he'd sensed it would feel something like this when the time came. He'd just barely met her, he told himself, so why did he fucking give a shit, anyway? But he stood up and grabbed his plate, no longer hungry.

"Well," he said coolly, "I guess that's it, then." He went to the sink, flipping on the disposal and twisting the tap to wash the rest of his uneaten breakfast down into the sewer.

"Priestly, I told her to drop dead!" she cried, looking at him, her eyes full of tears. "But then," she croaked, her voice breaking, "then she said to me, 'Give it time, Jude, and I think you'll get your wish!'"

Confused, he flipped off the disposal and crossed the room and sank down in the booth across from her again. She began to sob in earnest, just sitting there with her hands on the table next to her plate, her whole body shaking. He reached across the table and took her hands, squeezing gently.

"What is it?" he asked softly. "Is it really bad?"

She nodded. "My grandma, her mom, she died of breast cancer when my Mom was sixteen. My Mom has four sisters, two older and two younger. Two of them, two of my aunts, the oldest one and the next one behind my Mom…they died of it, too." Her sobbing turned to terrified wailing. "She found a lump, Priestly! She came home early from the conference because she found a lump in the shower! She was all alone in a strange city in a goddamn hotel and she found a lump! And I fucking told her to drop dead!"

"Shit…" he said softly, before he could stop himself. He slid out of the booth and crouched beside her, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him like she was a woman drowning. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, pulling her with him. It would have been funny if she wasn't crying in great, heaving sobs. There wasn't anything he could say. Words were useless. He just held on tight as she raged and tried to quiet her shudders, stroking her back, her hair. When she began to subside, he asked, "So what now? Mammogram?"

"Yeah," she said into his neck.

"When?"

"She hasn't made the appointment yet."

He just kept rubbing her back in little circles. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Me, too. I'm sorry I–″

"No," he said, kissing her temple. "Don't be sorry. I get it. And I get it if, you know, for your mom…" he trailed off. It still hurt, but now it hurt for a different reason.

"Priestly," she lifted her head and looked at him, fresh tears welling up. "I love my mom, but she doesn't get to live my life for me. Sick or not sick, I choose my people, okay?"

"Okay," he said helplessly, stroking her face. God, he felt helpless. He couldn't help Jude at all. She couldn't help her mother. Helpless. Worst fucking feeling in the world. He figured that if so many women in her family were getting breast cancer, she might be both afraid for her mother and herself, for her horrifying potential future. He couldn't imagine living with something like that hanging over your head, watching others succumb seemingly all around you, thinking you might be next.

"I have to go," she said, fighting off a fresh wave of tears. Rising, he pulled her up off the floor. She wrapped her arms around him and lifted her mouth to his. He followed her lead, letting her set the depth. When she finally pulled back they were both gasping.

"Call me, I want to know what's happening," he said, his forehead resting against hers.

She nodded against him.

As he stood on the curb watching her zoom away, his phone rang. Trucker. Of course.

"Hello?"

"Priestly, Jen called off again. Can you–"

"Yeah," he said shortly, cutting Trucker off. "I'm just going to get cleaned up and then I'll be on my way," he said, clicking off the phone and heading into the house to shower and change clothes.


	20. I'm Free

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

_**A/N: this chapter's a little slow moving, but thanks for reading anyway!**_

* * *

Sunday, June 1st dawned bright and hot. His mood mostly matched, but with the shadow of clouds on his horizon. Jude's mother was having her mammogram the next day, and Jude had been pretty closed off all week. He knew there wasn't much he could say or do, but it was hard to be there for her when she just kept holding him at a distance. Still, he kept trying, but on the other hand, he didn't want to make her feel suffocated.

Trucker noticed his mood was off. As they rode over to Sally's house in the Causemobile to borrow the pickup truck, he asked,

"What's going on in your head? You're sort of quiet for a guy who's been looking forward to moving into his own place."

Priestly shrugged. "Jude's mom is having the test tomorrow morning," he said.

Priestly hadn't intended to discuss her problems with anyone, but when he'd gone to work after that morning with Jude, Joe was unable or unwilling to maintain the seething quiet he'd held the day before. And on his end, Priestly'd been in no mood for Joe's shit. He'd worn the _Life gave me melons_ shirt as a means of silent support for Jude, and when Joe made a snide remark about it, he'd thrown being the bigger man out the window. They'd come closer than ever before to exchanging blows. Priestly shoved him back against the grill. If Trucker hadn't clapped him on the back and said, "Take a break. Now,"he had a feeling he'd have gone ahead and clocked the guy.

Trucker gave him a few minutes alone out back before joining him out in the alley. "Okay, man," Trucker said, looking at him steadily. "What gives?"

"The guy's a jackass," Priestly complained, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yeah, but you're used to that." Trucker waited.

"Doesn't mean I like it or want to put up with it," he shot back angrily.

"What else is going on? I'm getting some harsh vibes off of you today."

"Fuck, Trucker, can't people just be in a bad mood once in a while?" He glared at his friend challengingly, but at the sight of his mellow gaze, most of the wind left his sails. He was taking it out on the wrong person. Even Joe was the wrong person, because there really was no person to be mad at…there was just life. Priestly sighed deeply. "Jude's mom might have cancer." He waved a hand across his chest. "Breast cancer," he added.

Trucker said nothing, just put one arm around him and stood silently beside him for a couple minutes before giving his shoulders a squeeze. Then he let go and stepped back. "Take a few more minutes," he suggested before slipping back inside.

Priestly smiled a little, kicking at the bottom of the brick wall. He didn't know how or why it made him feel better. Trucker hadn't said a word. But maybe it wasn't about words. The guy just _got_ it. He got things without you having to explain them to death. Like always, Priestly thought of his father and how he could explain himself to his father all day long and not even feel halfway comforted. He knew it was stupid to keep drawing the parallels, to keep comparing Trucker's reactions to his father's. But truthfully, his friend was the closest thing he had to the sort of man he'd always thought a father should be.

He smiled a little again now, staring out the window of the Causemobile at passing traffic as Trucker asked,

"Do you know what time the appointment's at?"

"Nine," Priestly answered. "I offered to go with Jude, but her mom isn't crazy about me." He'd told Trucker about her mother's reaction to him. They both knew she was judging him by what she could see outside, and they both knew it was unfair. Trucker repeated what he'd already been thinking, which was if she gave him a chance, she might find out he wasn't such a bad guy. In other words, give it time and see what happens.

Priestly didn't have time to give it more thought because Trucker pulled up to the curb at a little ivy covered house. Almost immediately, the garage door started to lift. Sally, buoyant as always, greeted him with a hug, her auburn hair looking like dark fire in the sun. Looking down at his short co-worker, he could see the shine of silver at her roots, part of the age she tried to hide. Priestly grinned fondly at her.

"Hey, Sal," he said. "I really appreciate this."

"And I really appreciate you working later to help cover his shift while he moves," Trucker joked.

"Aw, that's nothing," she waved it off. "C'mon back and have a look, Priestly. I'll show you where we keep our donation pile."

As they stepped into the garage, a man with white hair and silver rimmed glasses stepped out of the house and into the garage. "Trucker!" he greeted heartily, reaching out to shake his hand. "Good to see you again. How've you been?"

Trucker nodded. "Good, Scooter. What about you? Play any golf lately?"

"Oh, yeah. Every Thursday." Looking at Priestly, Scooter's face broke into a smile. "You must be Priestly. Sally talks about you all the time. She comes home and tells me what your shirt says every day."

He watched the man's eyes flick to his chest. _I'm ashamed of what I did for a Klondike bar._

Scooter grinned reading the slogan. "Where do you find these things?"

Priestly shrugged. "Online or at thrift stores, sometimes at the swap meet. All over."

Sally showed him to the back corner of the garage and said, "Everything on the other side of these three buckets is for the Salvation Army, so if you want any of it, you and Scooter can just load it up in the pickup."

"Thanks," he said, looking at the area in bewilderment. He didn't really understand. The stuff he was seeing in the area she was pointing to was…nice. Good stuff. Why would they be getting rid of it? When he stood there too long without moving, Sally asked,

"Something wrong, Priestly?"

He pointed to the back corner. "This stuff back here?"

"Yes," she nodded, stepping past the buckets and gesturing. "All this stuff." When he still just stood there, she said, "If it isn't your style, we understand. Don't feel like you have to take it, Priestly. You won't insult us. It's okay," she said, patting his arm.

"No," he said quickly, moving forward to run a hand along the small mission-style table in the back corner. "It's just…are you sure you don't want to sell this? It's only got a couple scratches. It doesn't wobble or anything."

Trucker and Scooter, overhearing his question, both moved in. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Priestly," Trucker said, laughing.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just sort of nice stuff to just give away."

Sally shrugged. "We do sell things from time to time, but we like to give, too. If you give freely, you receive freely."

Priestly shook his head and gave Sally a grin. "I'll take it," he said, and Trucker and Scooter moved in, each taking a chair. Priestly took the other two. They put them on the driveway. Sally gave them an old blanket to use as a furniture pad. They put it down in the bed of the pickup, and then Trucker and Priestly hoisted the table up. "We should lay it down on the top," Priestly said. After carefully doing so, they arranged the chairs in the upturned table.

He went through the rest of the items for donation, taking a tote of old towels that looked almost new and a very heavy old box-style television that Sally and Scooter had replaced only recently, she said, with a flat panel television. A lot of the other stuff was just random knick knacks and some wall prints. He took a few things that he liked and left the rest, but offered to pick it up and take it to the donation center for them later, if they wanted.

"Sally, Scooter," he said, looking at them both, "Thanks. Thanks a lot. Is it okay if I bring the truck back tomorrow?"

"Sure, we've got the car," Scooter nodded.

"I'm sorry you have to work a double today, Sal," he winced, hugging her.

"Don't worry about it, Priestly. You'll make it up to me some day," she teased.

Trucker asked if he had someone to help him unload, since he had to open the grill. Priestly nodded. "Jude's friend, Mike, is going to help me."

Trucker nodded and climbed into the Causemobile. Priestly waited for him to move off down the street before turning the pickup out after him.

Two hours later, most of which was spent driving clear across town to pick Mike up and then back over to the apartment to unload the stuff Sally had given him, Priestly sat on the folded futon with him, sipping Gatorade. After giving it some thought, Priestly decided to just sleep in the living room until he could afford a real bed for the bedroom.

"So, this is it? You have a futon, a million year-old TV on the floor, a box of towels, a garbage bag full of clothes, the dining table and chairs, and a box of random crap."

He shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

Mike's lips curled. "No, man, that's cool. Just a little monk like, is all."

"I'll build from here," he said, shrugging.

"You got anything in the kitchen?"

"What, like, food?"

"What else?" Mike joked.

"Not yet," Priestly admitted. "Want to call in for a pizza?"

"Nah, man. If we're done here, I should see if my friends are still hanging out at Steamer Lane."

"You surf?" Priestly asked, recognizing the place as the one Trucker liked the best.

"Sure, don't you?"

"Don't know how," he answered.

"Want to learn?" Mike offered. "I'm sure we could scare up a board."

"Sometime, but I should really get some food and other stuff," Priestly shrugged.

"Yeah," Mike laughed, rising. "Don't forget the TP like I did my first night. That is not a fun first night's errand, let me tell you."

Priestly laughed all the way to the beach as Mike rehashed other memories of his first few days in his own place. He had roommates, but they had all been moving out on their own for the first time together to share expenses. He followed Mike's directions to the best drop off area for Steamer Lane then waited while he plucked his surfboard out of the bed of the truck. After giving him a wave, Priestly sat in the lot and dialed Jude on his cell, hoping this time she'd answer his call. He got her voicemail.

"Jude, it's me," he said. "Call me when you can." He hung up and wondered where there was a grocery store around Leo's place.

He was just stepping into the checkout line when his phone vibrated, signaling a text. As he put his food on the belt with one hand, he checked his phone with the other.

_Hi. Sorry I haven't called. _

Frowning, he texted Jude back while waiting for the elderly man in front of him to write a check for his order.

_It's ok. Can I do anything?_

Priestly was just putting the bags in the bed of the truck when his phone went off again.

_Are you working tonight? _

_ No, _he texted back. _Have today off to move. And off tomorrow._

He didn't hear from her again until he was back at Leo's, putting his groceries away. This time, she called.

"Hi," he said, putting the last of the cold stuff away, gently nudging the fridge closed with the toe of his shoe, carrying the last bag to the bathroom.

"Hi," Jude said, her voice level. He wondered if she was okay. He was afraid to ask, afraid of the answer. And he didn't want to remind her of the reasons she had _not _to be okay, in the event she was trying to put them aside for a little while. "How do you like your apartment?"

"It's great," he replied enthusiastically. "It's a little bare bones right now, but it's all mine."

"I thought I might come check it out."

"Do you remember where it is?" he asked. She'd dropped him off there once.

"I think so," she answered. "If I get lost, I'll call, so keep your phone handy."

After hanging up, Priestly finished putting the last of the necessities away, smiling to himself as he put a roll of TP on the holder and remembered Mike's stories. When he left the bathroom and saw the bedroom, completely empty, he felt a little embarrassed but shrugged it off in the next instant. He planned to see what he could find at the thrift stores, but the one thing he wouldn't buy there would be the bed itself. There was just something gross about a used mattress in his eyes. The futon was bad enough. Not that it was stained or smelled funny or anything. He just preferred to know the history of something he slept on.

When Jude arrived, she joked,

"Priestly, you've been robbed!"

He rolled his eyes and kissed her. "Ha, ha," he said when she pulled back.

"Want to go shopping?" she asked, kissing him again. "I'm a good haggler," she said. "I know some great places for good, inexpensive stuff."

Just as he was about to agree, his phone rang. He held up a finger to Jude, who nodded and started walking around the apartment.

"Hello?"

"Priestly? It's Jen."

"Hey, Jen."

"Listen, I'm sorry I haven't had you over to my storage unit yet," she paused to cough.

"That's okay. You feeling better?"

She laughed a little. "Yes. Not perfect, but I can go to work today. Good thing, too, right? Trucker would probably freak out."

It was a standing joke that Trucker would freak about various things because, of course, he was too mellow to freak about anything. Priestly had learned some of the subtle signs that meant he was annoyed or irritated or stressed out, but you really, really had to look for them. He grinned at the phone.

"Anyway," she continued on when he didn't answer, "I thought maybe we could meet there tomorrow sometime, if you want."

He glanced at Jude as she returned to the living room and sat down on the futon. "Sure, I mean, if _you _want. I mean, this is your stuff."

She asked if he had something to write the address with. He thought of Mike again as he realized he had only the copy of his lease to write on but nothing to write with. "Do you have a pen, Jude?" Luckily, she had one in her purse. "Okay, Jen, shoot." He scribbled the address and 10 a.m. on the back of the lease. "Cool, Jen, thanks. I'll be there." After hanging up with her, Priestly turned to Jude. "You ready to go?"

Jude stood up. "Ready."

She really did know some good places. He was a little afraid to buy anything, wondering if he might be duplicating things he could get for free from Jen, but in the end they stuck mostly to little necessities like dishes and pots and pans rather than furniture. She was also right about being a good haggler. She'd point out the tiniest flaw, like a miniscule chip at the edge of a plate, and she'd get another ten or twenty percent knocked off an already reasonable price. The only downside was that he'd taken the truck, thinking they might find furniture, and he'd wasted a lot of gas that day going after Mike. He decided after he was finished meeting Jen he'd fill up the tank on the way to return the truck to Scooter and Sally.

Back at the apartment, with the last of his purchases put away, Priestly sank down next to Jude on the futon. She pointed to the television and said,

"We should have gotten a stand or something for that. Does it even work?"

He lifted his shoulders. "Guess I'll find out," he said, plugging it into the wall and hitting the power button. Sally hadn't been able to find the remote. She'd been apologetic. He told her he'd eventually buy a universal remote, anyway.

The stations were fuzzy no matter which way he moved the rabbit ears, but then he remembered Leo told him there was a rooftop antenna. He just needed the cable to connect to the wall jack behind the TV. Then he could at least get local channels until he decided whether or not he could afford something more. He switched off the TV since nothing would come in and he didn't have a VCR or DVD player and returned to the futon to sit beside Jude.

She just looked at him wordlessly for several seconds. He looked back, but then he began to grow uncomfortable with her just staring. When he looked away, she laughed softly and grabbed his face, turning it back towards hers, and kissed him gently. When she would have pulled back, he slid his hand under her hair and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Stay," he said, one corner of his mouth lifting. She slid her hands into his sleeves with a mischievous grin. He found the backs of her knees and tugged her closer. "Hi," he said when she was close enough for his liking.

"Hello," she breathed just before he cancelled out anything else she was about to say.


	21. Sitting Here in Limbo

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

The first night in his new apartment, Priestly slept like shit. Whether that was because he was in a new place or because he was worried about Jude and her mother's test the next day or because he'd forgotten to buy a pillow and had to resort to rolling up a towel, he didn't know. He gave up around seven. It was weird not sitting out on the back deck, with or without Trucker, watching people at the park or just soaking up the sunshine and thinking his own thoughts.

Instead, he took a bowl of cereal out on the landing, thinking about how, if he pushed it against the railing, he could fit a little two-seater table. He could still soak up rays, though there weren't any bikini-clad rollerbladers to watch. Well, no matter. He could imagine Jude in her board shorts and bikini top, instead. He grinned into the morning light and munched his cereal.

As 9 a.m. drew near, he got more and more fidgety. The only real energy he could expend at his apartment was folding the futon back up. He wandered the property, looking for weeds or any sign that he needed to pull the mower out, but he'd just mowed the prior week and there was nothing. He let himself into Leo's place to do his daily check. After Trucker's story about the water leak, Priestly figured it was no big deal to walk through the kitchen, bathrooms, and laundry room every day, turning on and off taps, flushing toilets, and then circuiting through again after the flushes completed to make sure nothing strange happened.

Basically, he'd never been so bored. Funny thing was, it wasn't like he sat and watched a bunch of TV or used the laptop all day when he was at Trucker's. He sometimes read something from Trucker's vast and unusual assortment of books, or he would tidy up the house or the yard. Sometimes he just sat out on the deck. So with no TV to watch, no books to read, and a still clean apartment, he was crazy bored. After he texted Jude to tell him as soon as she knew anything, he flopped on the futon and considered what he could do in the thirty minutes he had before he needed to leave to meet Jen at her storage unit.

He called Trucker to ask for directions to Jen's storage unit and felt lucky when his surfer friend was home to answer his phone. Trucker wasn't much for technology. He still didn't have even a TracFone. He had the laptop largely for keeping track of the grill's finances, and even then he usually preferred just to sit down in the back booth with a ledger book and a pile of paper.

After giving him the turn by turn directions suggested by Mapquest, Trucker asked, "So how was your first night over there? Everything copacetic?"

"Yeah," Priestly said. He figured that was the better answer, otherwise Trucker would probably try to fix things by buying him a pillow or something. The guy had done so much already. Priestly figured 'fine' was a better answer unless he was really in trouble. And probably not even then. "You going surfing?"

"Yeah. You just caught me. Another ten minutes, I'd have been gone."

"Well, I don't want to keep you from the waves," Priestly retorted. "I know how you get. Waves are your crack."

"They are," Trucker laughed. "Alright, man. Hey, come around once in a while so I have an excuse to barbecue. Seems like a waste of effort when it's just me. Bring Jude around, if you want."

"How about Wednesday nights?" Priestly suggested. Since it was concert night in the park and they always ended up either at Trucker's or behind his place, anyway, it seemed to work out for everyone.

"That sounds like a winner," Trucker agreed. "Wednesday nights it is. Alright, I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

"Yep. Good surfing," Priestly said, ending the call after waiting for Trucker to hang up.

Twenty-eight minutes. Sighing, Priestly muttered, "Screw it," and grabbed the truck keys and his wallet off the kitchen counter.

He grabbed a Starbucks and filled the truck up with gas. After that, he nervously checked his bank balance, hoping he was right about the rough figures he had going in his head. He was. It wasn't great, but if he was careful until his next payday he might not end up eating Ramen.

Jen was already leaning against her storage locker's door, even though he showed up about five minutes early for lack of anything better to do. He parked the truck across from it and hoped the owners of the units he blocked didn't happen to show up. Jen smiled at him as he hopped out of Sally's truck.

"Hi," she said, squinting in the sunshine before turning to remove the round padlock.

Inside, she pointed out things her uncle left her. As with Sally, he asked if she was sure she didn't want to sell them. Jen laughed and told him, "Sally said you tried to talk yourself out of free stuff, and I didn't believe her."

He shrugged. "Well, she had nice stuff. So do you."

"And, what?" she asked seriously. "You don't think you're worthy of nice stuff?"

He looked down at the bookshelf she had pointed to moments before. "I just, you know, don't want people giving me things when they might benefit from them."

"I want you to have whatever you want to take," she said simply.

He tipped his head. "Well, I would like this bookcase. And I would like the desk, too."

"Anything else?" she asked, after pointing out the available items again.

"I'll take the bed frame," he said, referring to a wooden headboard, footboard, and rails.

"Not the mattresses?"

"No," he shook his head. "Thanks," he added.

"Sure," Jen nodded.

He was able to put the bookcase into the bed by himself, using the blanket from the day before as a furniture pad. He then managed the bed, since it was broken down. But he couldn't lift the desk alone, and he didn't want to ask Jen. He flagged down a guy in a utility cart and asked if he could help. Together, they managed to wrestle the desk into the bed of the truck and close the tailgate after he did some careful rearranging.

He hugged her. "Got your car, or do you need a lift?"

"No, I have my car out front. I'll ride along to the gate, though."

"What's going on for the rest of your day off?" He asked as they wound their way from the back of the storage facility to the front.

"I might hang out on the beach for a while and keep getting over this cold or whatever it is," she said.

"Lazy days can be fun," he agreed. After dropping her at the gate and watching her get into her car, he headed back toward Leo's. As he drove, he phoned Trucker's house, forgetting until after the phone started ringing that Trucker had been about to go surfing. He stayed on the line, figuring he'd just leave him a voicemail to call when he got back from surfing. He was shocked when Trucker answered and told the old surfer as much.

"Yeah," Trucker laughed, "I got a call from Butch right after you called. Sat and bullshitted with him for a while and now I have it on good report the waves went flat, so I'm going to try later. What's up?"

"Well, I need a favor. Jen had a couple good things but they're heavier than shit. Would you mind helping me unload and then come with me to Sally's to return the truck and give me a lift home?"

"Sure, man. I'll be over in a few minutes."

As Priestly pulled into Leo's driveway and waited for Trucker to arrive, he checked his phone again for a message from Jude. Nothing. He sighed, hoping no news was good news. He sat brooding about it until Trucker pulled to the curb in his car, an ancient old Toyota.

"She had some nice stuff, huh?" he asked through the open window.

"Yeah, she did," he agreed. "Causemobile break down?"

"Nah. I prefer it to the car, but I've been using it a lot. Gotta treat an old girl like that gently if you want to keep her around," he sighed. "So I'm using my rust bucket instead."

Getting Jen's uncle's stuff up the stairs was not easy. It was real wood, not the particle veneered stuff most furniture seemed to be made out of these days. It was heavy as hell, but it was decent quality and would hold up well over time. Once they finished, Priestly headed for the fridge to get them each a bottle of water. He'd bought a case since he hadn't gotten around to getting any glasses yet.

"I'd give you a beer, but I don't have any," he joked, handing Trucker a water.

"This is fine," Trucker smirked. "I don't mind you having a beer here and there, but I'm not going to buy you your own."

He grinned. "Oh, come on. I'm not going to go overboard." But he let it drop. He didn't really care if he had any around the house or not. Given his recent outings with Jude, he figured he could get it easily enough on his own.

"You pick up that cable for the TV yet?" Trucker asked. It was now sitting on top of the low bookcase Jen had given him. He'd been careful to fold an extra towel underneath to keep from scratching the bookcase and had also been careful to pull the bookcase far enough out from the wall so it wouldn't tip from the top heavy TV.

"Not yet," he shook his head. "I'll get around to it."

Trucker smiled. "I lived in a place sort of like this when I was fresh out of high school, except I lived there with two other guys. We put our little Zenith, a 19-incher, up on one of those cinder block and wood plank deals. Came home one day and found the wood snapped and the TV face down on the floor. Man, my roommate was so steamed!" He laughed. "I was actually pretty glad when we all went our separate ways because he never let me hear the end of it. My idea," he explained.

Priestly grinned and drank his water and checked his phone again.

"Yard looks good," Trucker mentioned, finishing his water. "You recycling yet?" he asked, holding up the empty bottle.

He made a face. "Another thing I forgot to get. Just leave it on the counter." He added 'recycle bin' to his mental list of things for the apartment.

"Any word on Jude's mom?" Trucker asked as Priestly checked his phone again.

"Nope," he sighed.

After a few more minutes of talk they got into their respective vehicles. Priestly let Trucker lead because he wasn't sure he remembered how to get to Sally's place.

Sally and Scooter invited them inside for lemonade. Almost immediately after he sat down at the patio table on their back deck, a large German Shepard poked its nose into Priestly's crotch. "Hey!" he yelped , taking the dog's muzzle and gently directing it away from himself. "Not on the first date!" he joked as Sally grabbed the dog by the collar and scolded,

"Jetta, no!" Sally led the dog away, down the deck steps, and released her into the yard. "Go!" she ordered. The dog, looking abashed, wandered dejectedly away. "Sorry about that. She's still having trouble with that particular behavior even after two years of training."

Priestly waved it away. "No big deal. I like dogs. I just don't like you like that!" he called out into the yard.

Scooter laughed appreciatively then asked, "So, you're all moved in now?"

"Yep. Thanks for the truck."

"Any time," Sally said, pouring the glasses and handing them out before sitting down next to Scooter. "I mean that, Priestly."

He nodded, gulping the lemonade. "Wow," he remarked, looking at the glass in his hands, "that's really good, Sal."

Trucker got into a conversation with Scooter about the surfing at Steamer Lane. Jetta wandered meekly back onto the deck and sidled up to him, putting her chin on his knee. He scratched the dog's head and ears, her fur warmed from the sun. He chuckled as she sighed deliriously.

"Oh, she loves you," Sally laughed.

"What's not to love?" he joked, using both hands now. "She's pretty," he remarked. "You're pretty," he told her, "and you know it, dontcha?"

He loved dogs. He almost wished he'd opted for one in Leo's lease, but he figured even if he had the money to care for a dog, between the grill and school and having some sort of social life, he'd barely be home. That was no life for a dog, being cooped up more often than not. Priestly baby talked Jetta a little more before some noise only she could hear sent her to the far corners of the yard.

They finished their lemonade slowly. Sally joined Scooter and Trucker's surfing conversation, mentioning some of the beaches they'd been to over the years when Scooter would go on various business trips. That led to a conversation about travel in general and more jokes from Sally about Florida. Scooter laughed but didn't deny he was hoping to move down there within the next couple years. Trucker made his usual plea of "Not yet, Angel…not until you find me someone who works as hard as you do!" to which Priestly answered, "I don't think anyone else like that exists, Truck!" Everyone laughed at that, but no one disagreed.

Eventually, Trucker remarked that he had to get out to Steamer Lane before the surf flattened out, so they helped Sally return the empty glasses and pitcher to the kitchen and exchanged goodbyes. Priestly teased Sally, "I'll see you at work tomorrow if you stand still long enough." She swatted him, giggling.

He forced himself to wait until Trucker had dropped him off at the apartment before checking his phone again. He'd accidentally turned it off, so he'd missed Jude's text:

_Inconclusive. Next=biopsy. :*(_

He dialed her right away. "Jude?" he asked, thinking she had picked up. It was just her voicemail, though. "Hey," he said softly. "Call me if you want to talk or if you need to get your mind of things for a while."

He must have fallen asleep on the futon, because the next thing Priestly was aware of was a knock on the door. Opening it, he smiled at the sight of Jude on his doorstep holding a little box wrapped in the Sunday comics. He stepped back to let her in and noticed she was looking at his hair. Reaching up, he realized his 'hawk was crushed by the unplanned nap.

"I brought you an apartment-warming present," she announced. "It's from the Superpawn on 9th and Kettner, so let's hope it works. It worked in the store, but…" she shrugged.

He tore off the comics page wrapping paper and cried, "Music!" at the sight of an iPod.

"Look, this is cool," she said, "they're making this cord you can plug into a regular socket now. You plug the charger cord into it, so you don't even need a computer anymore to charge it."

"Nice," he said, rising to plug it in. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down.

"Already fully charged for now," she said. "And I loaded a bunch of my tunes on there. Maybe I can bring my laptop next time and you can mess around some more with it."

"Awesome," he said, turning it over in his hands again. "Thanks, Jude. Seriously, it's really great."

"So, I see you've got some more stuff in here," She said, wandering through the apartment to check out what was new before helping herself to a bottle of water from the fridge. After taking a few sips, she set it down on the counter and slid her arms around him.

"So, when will your mom have the biopsy?" he asked, hating the way she tensed when he asked it. He rubbed her back as she just shifted to turn her face away from his neck so he could hear her.

"They scheduled it before we left. It's on Wednesday. I mean," she paused for a second, her breath catching. "I mean, that's good for her, Priestly, because she's so worried she can't sleep. She acts like it's all fine, you know, just roses and sunshine, but then I see her light still on in her bedroom all night long, no matter what time it is. And I'm so scared by what it really might mean, you know?" She leaned back to look at him and her eyes were wet, her forehead wrinkling up with concern. "I mean, what if they set it so soon because they think it's cancer? What if they _know_ it is and they're just trying to, you know," she gestured, searching for the word, "trying to prove it for sure?"

He tucked her back against him and stroked her hair. The lump in his throat made it hard to answer her. He could all but feel her fear. Quiet dread seemed to spill into him from her body. "I think if they knew it was cancer, they wouldn't dance around it, Jude. They'd give it to her straight if they already knew what it was. If they're doing a biopsy, it means they aren't sure what it is and that's the only way to know for sure."

"I want to think positive and all that," she continued, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "but I just keep thinking about Gran and Aunt Betty and Aunt Joanie and…" She started to shake, and he knew she was crying.

He felt afraid for her. He couldn't imagine. His parents were alive and well. Asshole or not, he didn't know what he would feel if his father was sick. And if it was his mother…Priestly felt his own body tense up. He murmured to her about just not going there until she had to. Don't think cancer, don't say cancer, don't what-if. Just hope and pray and…wait for the results. Just breathe and wait. He repeated the words several times as if to convince himself, too, because truthfully, he wasn't sure it was going to end well, not with a family history like Jude's. It almost seemed more unlikely that it _wouldn't _be cancer than that it would. And if he thought about that, Jude must be thinking it, too.

Slowly, she relaxed under his touch. He dipped to kiss her neck where it met her shoulder, and then he kissed her throat. Then each closed eyelid and the trails of salty tears down her cheeks to her mouth. When she kissed back he felt everything she'd just put into words and the things for which she couldn't find words. Her fingers tangled in the back of his flagging, rumpled hair as his slid along her nape. He stood with her against the kitchen counter with his mouth roving over hers, having a conversation without words.


	22. Hallelujah

_**Everybody knows I don't own the characters or Ten Inch Hero.**_

* * *

The following Friday, with Trucker out on a supply run, Jen repeating internet orders to Joe, and Sally delivering meals out to the dining room, Priestly dashed to pick up the phone.

"Beach City Grill…" he said into the phone, patting his apron for an order pad. Because he didn't normally work the order taking side of things, there was none. Jen threw one but missed, beaning him in the side of the head. He rolled his eyes at her and bent down to pick it up. "What?" he asked. He could barely hear the guy on the other end due to static. "Hello?" He muttered a curse as he hung up. "What the hell's a turkey thruster?" he asked aloud.

Sally rounded the counter and laughed. "Once upon a time, Trucker used surfboard types for the sizes of the subs, but most of the customers had a hard time with it, so over time we switched to inches. It's 4" boogie, 6" thruster, 10" gun and 12" longboard. And you'll probably forget them by the time you ever hear someone order like that again."

"Ok, so 6" turkey." he muttered, moving to the cold station to fix it. Just as he was wrapping it, Trucker returned with the supplies and Priestly's phone started vibrating. He delivered the sandwich to Jen to hold aside for pick up. In exchange she handed him three new tickets for cold subs and two for hot subs, which he shoved up under the rail on the vent hood for Joe.

"Hey Trucker, we've got some kind of way-back regular coming in," Sally told him on her way past him with a new load of orders.

He looked her way curiously and waited for her to explain, but Jen told him for her. "Somebody ordered a turkey thruster?" She phrased it as more of a question.

Trucker looked amused. "Wonder who that would be," he puzzled, rubbing his chin. "No one's used those old sizes for years."

It didn't take them long to find out. Priestly went back to assembling cold sandwiches until he heard Trucker burst out laughing.

"Son of a gun! Goram! Brother, why didn't you tell me you were coming to town?"

Priestly turned to see Trucker bear hugging a guy who looked more biker than surfer. The dude was tall and looked Polynesian. He had a long, dark braid with just a few silver strands woven in and a Fu Manchu moustache. He knew from past conversations with Trucker that Goram was one of his old surfing buddies. He grinned at Trucker's obvious excitement over the unexpected visit.

"It wouldn't be a surprise, then, would it?" Goram was saying as he elbowed Trucker in the ribs. "Where's my turkey thruster?"

Jen slid it across the counter as Trucker waved away his cash.

"Go sit down, man, and as soon as we get this group cleared up, I'll join you."

"Go on, Truck," Priestly said. "We got this, don't we?" He directed the question more to Jen and to Sally, who returned to fill drink orders now that the table deliveries were momentarily caught up, but he was surprised when Joe turned and nodded at Trucker.

"Yeah, go on, Trucker," Joe said.

Priestly just got back to work on the cold station, unwilling to upset the delicate balance of the four of them working in unanimous harmony for once. They worked together, staying just ahead of the steady but not too crazy crowd until suddenly, like the surf sometimes did, orders and customers flattened out abruptly.

Priestly took advantage of the sudden lull to wander over to the booth Trucker and Goram occupied with the excuse of clearing away their lunch trash. Just as Trucker introduced them to each other, his phone vibrated again and he realized he'd forgotten to check it before. So instead of lingering to chat, he just nodded at the two surfers, picked up their empty plates and asked, "You guys need anything else?"

Trucker shook his head. "We're good for now, thanks."

Since there was nothing going on, he ducked into the back room to check his phone. Jude's mom had had the biopsy a week ago Wednesday and the doctor told them the results would be back the following Friday. Friday, June 13th. It was that Friday now. Priestly closed his eyes and took a deep breath before flipping open his phone to check the display.

_Benign cyst. Celebrate tonight! :) :) :)_

He was smiling so big when he went back out on the floor that Jen's face split into a wide grin.

"What's going on?" she asked curiously.

He shook his head. "Just a great day," he said. "And it's Friday."

"Okay, then," Jen agreed, turning back to the laptop to check for any new orders.

Trucker, however, was just headed to the back room. He clapped Priestly's shoulder as he went by and asked quietly, "Good news?"

He dipped his head, and Trucker clapped a second time before disappearing into the back room.

* * *

After spending time on just about every ride on the boardwalk, Priestly and Jude walked along the beach. Her mood was lighter than it had been since her mother found the lump, and he liked seeing her carefree. They slung their shoes over their shoulders and waded in the surf, just walking silently beside each other, their hands clasped together.

Out of the blue in that way she had, Jude halted and turned to him, looking up at him with her tea colored eyes, though in the darkness they looked darker. "Thank you, Priestly, for being there for me these last couple weeks. You really don't know what it meant to me." She nodded up at him, her eyes earnest.

He just drank her in for a few moments before nodding. The breeze whipped her hair around her head, and he stopped to clear it, combing his fingers through it on both sides of her head, then brought her face toward his. He dropped his forehead to hers gently. "You're welcome," he said softly.

He didn't want to ruin the light mood, so he didn't ask her about August, though he'd been wanting to lately. Two nights ago, after spending Wednesday evening in the park after barbecuing with Trucker and Goram, who was still in town, they'd gone back to Priestly's apartment. She'd been subdued and a little tipsy, which in his mind, made it an off-limits sort of night. He'd started dozing off in front of the movie they were watching on network TV. She'd been nestled against his shoulder, her mouth inches from his ear when he was pretty sure he'd heard her whisper,

"_What am I going to do about you?"_

He didn't want to take unfair advantage of her happiness to ask if she thought they might go ahead and try to maintain a long-distance relationship, after all. Nor had he wanted to hit her with such questions when she was so vulnerable. It just never seemed the right time. But then when would it? August rushed closer at dizzying speed. He could feel time all but draining away. Some part of him was conscious even as they lost themselves in each other. Based on her whispers, he knew he wasn't alone in the turmoil, in the wondering. He wasn't alone in his feelings for her. It wasn't one-sided. He was as sure of that as he was of his name. But he wasn't at all sure she would change her mind, her stance, and it left him cold inside.

Priestly kept silent on the matter as they wandered so far up the beach they lost the crowd. After going as far with her as he dared on a public beach and unprepared, he nuzzled her cheek. "We should go back now," he whispered, pulling his socks back on and thrusting his feet back into his combat boots before rising from the sand.

Their walk seemed like less of a good idea by the time they wearily made it back to her car. Ducking inside, Priestly put his thoughts aside when she gave him her trademark reckless grin. "I need pancakes," she announced.

"So, let's find some pancakes," He agreed.

IHOP took good care of the pancake fix. Jude attacked hers with gusto. She'd done a lot of pushing food around on plates recently, Priestly noticed, so he liked watching her satisfy her craving. Full of pancakes, however, she grew tired. It was late, anyway. Or early. Whatever way you chose to see it. She drove him home. After their usual few minutes of kissing at the curb, she smiled at him.

"Tonight was a blast," she said. "Let's do that again sometime soon."

He nodded, kissing her one more time before unfolding himself from the car.

He watched her rocket away before wandering slowly inside.

* * *

Though he wished he could stop it, time seemed to only accelerate. Goram left, which made Trucker quiet for a couple days. His only comment was that hanging out with him for only two weeks after not seeing him in person for five years was a real bummer. Priestly made sure not to miss the Wednesday barbecue, even though Jude wanted to go to a concert at Moe's that night. She understood. She already had the tickets, though, so he'd told her to take Kelly or one of her other friends. When Trucker wondered why she wasn't there, he just said it was another girl's night.

June collapsed into July. He finally received his student aid award notice and was dismayed to see he'd received less than he hoped. Apparently, working 30 hours a week was a negative in the world of financial aid, even if you lived on your own and had no parental support. He signed up for two classes, anyway, but had to cover some of the fees out of pocket because the other thing he discovered was that financial aid for part time students royally sucked.

August rolled in on a week of hellish thunderstorms. Trucker was delighted over what they did to the surf, and he spent a little extra time out there. Things at the grill were hectic, but no one, not even Joe, wanted to ruin his fun. They were all aware that Trucker was a pretty easy going boss. So they sucked it up and managed to work together, even though Joe and Priestly regularly pissed each other off. Priestly had learned even more, however, about how to shut the guy down. Sure, it was a lot of turning the other cheek and even more holding his tongue when he didn't want to, but that was just the price you paid sometimes. Trucker was worth it, he figured.

Jude suddenly became a regular at the grill again, stopping by for lunch several times a week. Priestly tried not to let it interfere with work, but he occasionally got a nudge from Trucker to get back to the grill or the cold station. Jude would apologize and Trucker would smile at her and tell her it was no problem, but Priestly tried hard not to linger at her table long enough for him to have to wander past them. He just wasn't always successful.

More nights than not, Jude came by at closing to pick him up. They spent a good deal of time with Kelly, who was really missing Patrick. He was still in Europe and wouldn't be back until the day after Jude left. Priestly liked Kelly, though, and he still got plenty of alone time with Jude. He liked all of Jude's friends, in fact, though some more than others. Mike was one of his favorites. They sometimes hung out even without Jude, playing pool or going to Moe's. Priestly, in turn, helped him move from one apartment to another, though he joked that Mike definitely got the easier end of the moving stick. The guy had enough junk to qualify him as a girl. That comment earned him a good-natured punch in the shoulder.

Everything around them, though, seemed to serve to remind Priestly that the hourglass was almost empty. He could try to slow things down, but in the end, the sand flooded past his grasping fingers. He found himself a week out from Jude's departure, standing in the brightly colored "spruce up your dorm room" aisle in a Target store while she chose bedding and other items.

"Why get them here?" he asked. "Why not wait until you're in Pennsylvania?"

She rolled her eyes. "My mother. It's the only way she can be sure I'm really ready." Jude shrugged. "So, I'm buying here and we're FedExing it."

When she was finally finished with the boatload of crap and he'd managed to stuff it all into the back of her car, he sat next to her in the passenger seat and said casually,

"I don't suppose you've reconsidered about what happens when you leave next week."

She looked at him, and his heart sank. He could see it in her eyes before she even shook her head slowly. "No," she said softly.

"Jude," he said roughly. Turns out it was all he could manage before she started the car and backed out of the parking spot, cranking up the stereo to drown him out. He waited for a minute or two and turned it back down. "C'mon," he said. "What're you, twelve?"

"Not now," she said sharply, turning the radio back up.

Clenching his jaw, he debated turning the radio back off, but he figured she wasn't closing the entire discussion. She was just delaying it. So he waited. He'd have his say. She could cut off the discussion now, while driving. That made sense, especially if things were going to get loud. Thinking he was probably the biggest idiot on the planet, he helped her take the billion pounds of dorm stuff into her house, grateful that her mother was at work.

Finally, she flopped on her bed and just looked at him.

"Jude, I think we could make it work if we just put the effort in," he said, sitting beside her. She took his hand, which he thought was a good sign until she said quietly,

"Priestly, listen carefully to me, okay?"

"I'm listening," he said. But he didn't want to look at her, because he didn't want to see it.

"Priestly," she said softly, reaching up and taking his chin and turning his face to hers. He swallowed hard at the misery in her sun-tea eyes. "I told you. That night in the park, I told you. I don't believe in long distance relationships. And I sure as hell don't believe in ones that have to last four years."

"I'm not saying it would be easy," Priestly acknowledged. "All I'm saying is why can't we at least give it a shot?"

"Why delay the inevitable?" she asked, rising from the bed to pace the room. "Either I'll end up meeting someone or you'll end up meeting someone and then it's just a bunch of awkward letters, one line emails or, Jesus, God forbid, some kind of fucked up break up text."

"I would never break up with someone by text!" He objected, shaking his head. She turned and pointed at him.

"See? You already know it," she accused. "Deep down, you get it. It–″

"Get what? I'm just saying, don't just assume we can't do this, Jude."

When she turned to him, her eyes were full of tears. "Dammit, Priestly, this is exactly what I'm talking about. I don't want you to try to change my mind about this. _I _don't want to change my mind about this. I don't know where life is going to end up, but I know that trying to love someone who's 3000 miles away isn't something anyone is good at."

"No, you don't know," he replied, rising. He wanted to understand her, but he was frustrated by her stubborn refusal to even consider it. "You don't know where life will end up. So how do you know that this is impossible?"

She just stared at him for a long moment. "I wish you could understand this," she said, taking his hands. "I'm not mad at you. You've done nothing wrong," she shook her head. "I just wish you'd listened when I said I meant it."

"Well," he yanked his hands away from hers and strode to her bedroom door, "I guess since everything is about what you want and what you think and what you've decided, we're done here."

"Priestly!" she called sharply behind him as he made his way down the hall.

He turned. Waited. When she just looked at him pleadingly, he said quietly, "One of the first stories you told me about your parents is that your dad divorced your mom because he got tired of not getting to wear the pants in the family. You might want to think about that. You don't have to control this, Jude. You don't have to try to control everything. It doesn't work, anyway. Look at your mom, at what happened to her this summer. You–"

She dropped her head down so that all he could see was her hair hanging in thick curtain. "_Priestly,_" she said vehemently, angry now. "I know you don't understand this, but this is exactly what I'm talking about! I didn't make you promises. I was very careful not to do that because I _do _like you and I _do_ care about you. You are so, so special to me, Priestly. I can't stand it if you go away hating me, because I don't hate you. You've meant everything to me these last couple of months. This isn't something I'm just casually walking away from…this hurts. This really,_ really_ fucking hurts," she cried, her voice catching on a sob. "BUT," she said, putting a hand over his mouth when he tried to answer her. "if we tried to do this, if we tried and it didn't work," she shook her head. "I can't. I can't go there. Please just accept that, Priestly. I can't go there. Seriously. Maybe when I graduate if I come back here, and you're not seeing anybody and I'm not seeing anybody, maybe we can see where things go."

"Oh, yeah," he snorted. "Yeah, that makes a lot more sense than breaking things off. Leaving them open ended on a maybe for four years instead! Are you listening to yourself?" He yelled so loud she flinched. "Hell, yeah, this fucking hurts. There's something here," Priestly gestured between them. "You feel it, I know you do. Doesn't what I want, how I feel mean anything to you? This fucking doesn't have to hurt! You can do something about it! I fucking love you, Jude! Okay?" She paled and sucked in a breath. "Fuck," he whispered, rubbing one hand over his face. "I love you," he said helplessly, feeling it in his gut when she flinched.

"Don't love me, Priestly," she said, her moan ending in a sob. "I never asked you to. I never wanted you to. This was exactly what I didn't want, Priestly. I didn't want bodies." She covered her eyes with one hand and her mouth with another. He could see the way it rocked her, literally rocked her so hard she almost lost her footing. As if there was an earthquake that only she felt. He took a step toward her, scraped raw but still willing to bleed for her. She couldn't possibly have seen him do it, so she must have felt it. "If you love me, Priestly," she cried, moving the hand away from her mouth but holding tight to the one over her eyes, hysteria creeping into her voice, "If you really love me, go. Right now. Go. Just…go."

Her words severed him clean, severed him numb. He wandered out of her house in a cold daze, feeling nothing but somehow disappointed by it, anyway.


	23. Numb

_**DISCLAIMER: The only characters I own are the OC's (Jude, Leo, etc.). I don't own the canon TIH, but I own the AU prequel events and circumstances (if you remove all canon aspects, characters, etc, that is!)**_

* * *

Trucker watched Priestly as he silently worked the grill. It was almost a week now that he'd been acting strange. He still came in announcing the topic of the day. He still wore a goofy shirt, and his still pointy, spiky hair still came in riotous colors. He still joked with the customers, trading smart ass comments with them. But even the regulars noticed something was off. Trucker figured it was Jude, because she wasn't coming in anymore and so far as he could tell, Priestly hadn't seen her for at least the last several days. Today, though, he was wearing the knife shirt: _Excuse me, you left your knife in my back. _The one with the knife-to-the-hilt picture instead of the word 'knife'.Trucker remembered the last time he'd worn it, that day in the van when he'd spilled about his father and Bennett. He wondered if it was a subconscious message the kid was putting out or if it was completely intentional.

Trucker remembered getting his own heart stomped on a few times. He'd been younger than Priestly the first couple times, but he still remembered how bad it felt. And he remembered there was really nothing for it but time, though a couple beers could take the edge off. Didn't help him any, though. He worried like hell for the kid, anyway. Trucker didn't think he'd try any more cliff dives or similar antics, but he still couldn't help the worrying.

Everyone responded to Priestly's mood in different ways. Sally said nothing, but touched him frequently in that mothering way of hers…a hand rubbing his arm as she passed, a pat to his back. After asking him if he was okay the first day, Jen pretended everything was normal, treating him exactly the same as she did any other day. Joe did, too, which made him daily reconsider firing the guy. The regulars gave Priestly funny looks even as they joked with him and he joked back. They turned questioning eyes to Trucker, who was only able to shrug his shoulders and shake his head.

All he could do, frustratingly, was watch and wait and see if the kid decided to spill it. It was Wednesday, so he planned to offer Priestly a ride at closing, as he had for the past several days. He wasn't sure whether to try to barbecue or not, though…whether Priestly might feel worse sitting on his back deck with the latest concert to remind him of Jude or whether skipping it might have an even worse effect, especially if it meant Priestly would end up brooding over it alone in his apartment. Trucker wondered about it all evening, all the way up until closing.

When Jen wandered over to the dining room to clean the tabletops, Trucker watched Priestly attack the grill with a level of vigor he seldom used when all was well. He was so absorbed in it, in fact, that he jumped when Trucker passed by and gave his shoulder a smack.

"What?" he asked, looking vaguely guilty.

"You up to some barbecue tonight?"

"Sure," Priestly nodded, turning back to the grill. "I brought you a present, even," he said over his shoulder. "Go check the fridge behind the mayo. Happy Birthday."

Trucker rolled his eyes but did as advised, grinning when he pulled out a huge, tied bag of $8.00 a pound carne asada from Carniceria Publico. He shook his head, touched that Priestly would remember an offhand comment he made about the best burrito he'd ever had. Or his birthday, for that matter, which he was careful not to advertise. Moving back into the front, bag in hand, he asked,

"How the hell did you get a hold of this? I know you haven't had time to go all the way down to San Ysidro," he said wryly.

Priestly shrugged, still scraping, though he swiped one arm across his face. "I've got friends who go to low places," he said mysteriously, with a halfhearted grin.

Sticking to their routine, Trucker asked Jen and Priestly if anyone needed a ride. Jen, as always, declined, heading for her car which was parked around the corner. Priestly followed Trucker, grinning when he saw the Causemobile instead of his Toyota POS.

When Trucker didn't turn where expected, Priestly asked,

"Where we going, Captain?"

"If I'm going to introduce you to the world's best burrito, we need a couple things," Trucker told him.

After stopping at a local grocery run by a couple from Cuernavaca, Mexico, they made their way to his back deck to fire up the grill. Priestly sent him to the kitchen for beer, lighting the grill. As he headed inside, he heard a knocking on the front door. When he opened it, he was astonished to find Jen on his doorstep with a six pack of Sello Negro, the dark amber, citrus-and-salt flavored beer he'd also described to Priestly.

"Happy birthday, Trucker," she said, smiling.

"Thanks! C'mon in, Priestly's out back firing up the grill," he said, stepping aside to let her in just as another two vehicles pulled up to the curb. One was Sally and Scooter's pickup and the other was Tim Stabler's. He shook his head again as Sally brought a Tres Leches cake, another of his favorites. But he knew that was all Sally. She made the best Tres Leches anywhere.

By the time Trucker had the carne ready and Priestly was cutting it into burrito-filling sized bites, several local surfing friends of Trucker's had also shown up and were milling around on the deck and in the lounge at the back of the house. Sally, as usual, was serving everyone drinks as Trucker made pico de gallo and Scooter helped him make fresh guacamole. The concert in the park was already rocking away with a weird mix of reggae and pop that seemed to fit the party atmosphere well enough.

Trucker was relieved to see that Priestly's mood had improved somewhat. He still didn't seem quite himself, and Trucker figured a lot of it was intentional effort on his part, but he was glad for it nonetheless. Everyone agreed the burritos were probably the best they'd ever had. When Trucker finally got his teeth into his own, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back appreciatively. Sucking down a Sello Negro with it was something else. About an hour after dinner, they had Sally's cake and then groaned about being stuffed to the limit.

The memories Trucker shared with them of Butch, Goram, Mike, and Leo and their burrito-making adventure made it almost like they were actually there, too. He and his local surfing friends, Chuck, Rawley, and Davis had the rest of them laughing over tales of various surfing and beach mishaps, many of which poked fun at Davis, who was always getting nailed by the waves because he tried to surf bigger than his skill set would allow.

He couldn't help but keep an eye on Priestly, though. He had a beer and was pretty mellow, though he laughed along with the others at the surfing stories and even hammed it up a little, joining Sally and Jen in dancing the Macarena when the band in the park played it. Everyone roared with laughter at the sight of that, including Trucker, who was feeling the effects of the 3 Sellos he'd had.

Trucker lost sight of Priestly for a while when he ducked into the house to help Sally and Scooter clear the plates and the rest of the dinner paraphernalia off of the deck. When he went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and investigate why he was the only one who hadn't returned, Priestly was just finishing up the dishes. He would have asked him then, but Jen had trailed after him into the kitchen to say goodbye.

"I have to get home," she said regretfully, "I have class tomorrow."

"Thanks for the Sello Negro, Angel," Trucker said, hugging her tightly. She gave him her usual meek smile and replied,

"Happy birthday. I hope you enjoyed it."

"I loved every bite, every beer, every minute," he assured her. "Best birthday I can remember," he added.

Priestly threw the dish towel down and pushed away from the sink. "I'll walk you out," he said with a half smile.

Trucker sighed at another missed opportunity and returned to the party.

* * *

"Priestly," Jen said slowly, making no move to duck into her car.

"Yeah?" He just looked at her, waiting, while her eyes roved over his face.

She smiled ruefully. "C'mon, you know what I'm going to ask you before I ask."

He sighed. "Yep."

"So?" she asked, when she realized 'yep' was all he was going to give her.

He shrugged. "Jude left for school."

Jen nodded. "You miss her."

He dipped his head but didn't say anything. He was still too raw.

Jen nodded again. "Well," she said, squeezing his arm, "just remember there are a lot of people here who care about you, if you want to talk to any of them."

He looked over her shoulder and nodded into the distance. "Thanks," he said. "Really." Still without looking, he clumsily gave her a weird sort of blind half-hug before he pulled open her car door for her. Amusement colored her voice.

"Thanks, Priestly. Have a good night, okay?"

"Yep," he said, glancing down to make sure she was all in before shutting the door.

He wandered back as far as Trucker's front porch, wishing he smoked so he'd have an excuse for sitting at the little table alone instead of returning to the back deck. Truthfully, it had taken everything he had to rouse himself out of the numbness into social mode, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could maintain it. He knew that someone would come looking for him, though, if he didn't make it back out to the deck soon.

Trouble was, it was just more of the same. Just when there was the illusion that he was living on his own terms, finally getting to do what he wanted, life reminded him that, nope, he had no say in anything. Not at home with his father, and not here with Jude. What he wanted, needed, hoped for…ignored. After nineteen years of it, he was used to having no voice in Latimer. Jude giving him the same answer, though…

Priestly shook his head. What kind of fucked up thing did it say about him that he sort of liked the way Jude tried to control everything, that she liked things how she liked them…that she demanded things the way she wanted them? How messed up was it that the very thing that he admired about her was the thing that was killing him now?

He'd considered going to her and trying to beat her at her own game…refusing to give her up, refusing to accept what she claimed she wanted…finally, finally, just taking something he wanted for himself. And then he realized what that sounded like. It sounded like Bennett. It sounded like a little twelve year-old girl pleading for the grown man forcing his desires on her to stop.

Hell fucking no. He was no Bennett.

So, instead, he was Boaz. Still. Maybe forever.

Fuck.


	24. Somebody's Watching Me

_October 21, 2003_

"Ok, people," Priestly began as he burst into the grill, "today's topic is tough, so put your thinking caps on: 'Why is there something rather than nothing?'"

Jen smirked at him and answered, "Priestly, I'm not doing your philosophy homework for you."

He grinned and pulled a packet of paper out of his messenger bag. "See? Right here: 'Ask as many people as you can this question from Heidegger: Why is there something rather than nothing? Compile the answers and comment on this essential question, citing any references and adding your own thoughts.'"

Trucker paused at the adding machine, where he was running through the prior day's receipts, to consider the question. "How do we know there IS something? Who defines something and nothing?"

Priestly pointed at him, digging in his messenger bag for a pen. He wanted to get that down. Philosophy was tougher than he thought. There was essentially no right or wrong answer unless they were tested on matching quotes with their origins or putting dates to historical moments in philosophy. The rest was just asking and answering, but he was quickly learning that you had to provide a developed, thoughtful answer or the instructor would give you a failing grade. He would never have suspected a class with few right or wrong answers would be so difficult.

"Even nothing is something," Lucille suggested.

"It's the absence of something," Jen agreed.

Since he was about fifteen minutes early for his shift, he stood at the front counter writing as fast as he could, but the regulars really took to the question seriously.

"There's something because it is impossible for there to _be _nothing. Even an empty glass is never empty…there's air, particles, subparticles…" Mel Shipley said around a mouthful of food.

He wrote until his hand cramped and Joe shouted crankily from the currently empty grill,

"There's always _something_ keeping Priestly from working, and it usually consists of doing_ nothing_!"

A few of the regulars laughed at that. Priestly just shot back,

"What are _you _doing right now?"

A couple of the regulars shouted, "Nothing!" which set off another round of laughter. Priestly shoved his notebook and pen into the bag and went around the edge of the counter, tucking it on the shelf out of the way.

He kept asking people all night, trying to recall answers and write them down on his break. Funny how the answers only led to more questions. Once they flipped the sign over to "Closed", Trucker asked,

"Any closer to solving the something or nothing issue?"

"Nah," Priestly answered, rubbing a cloth over the table in front of the one Trucker was using. "But I don't think any of this junk can ever be solved. They just want to watch our brains melt trying to figure it out. I'm guessing philosophers were high their whole lives."

Jen smirked as she cleaned at the front of the house.

Just then his phone vibrated. He reached up under his apron and into his pocket for it. Flipping it open, he poked the answer button. "'Lo?"

"You better forget everything you think you know about Dale Bennett," an eerily calm voice said. And then there was nothing.

Frowning at the display which read simply, _Blocked_, he snapped the little pay-as-you-go phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket.

"What was that?" Trucker asked, looking at him curiously.

"Nothing," he replied, rolling his eyes when Jen and Trucker laughed.

"Are you sure it wasn't something?" Jen teased.

He shrugged, smirking over at her. "Are you?"

Priestly thought about the call all night as he worked on his philosophy posit and again as he switched to World Religions. Funny how homework from one often bled into the other. As usually happened, he was half asleep at the dining table when his phone rattled on the tabletop. Closing his notebook, he flipped open the phone.

"'Lo?" he yawned.

"You better listen when I tell you, man. You better have nothing to say about Dale Bennett."

"Who the fuck is this?" he asked angrily.

_Click._

Priestly stared down at the same word as before: _Blocked._ He closed the flip phone and tossed it across the table in disgust. He wondered, though, why someone was telling him to forget what he knew.

He got his answer the following Monday, just as he was returning from his classes. A man stood at his door knocking as he came up the driveway.

"Hey, man," he said warily, not getting any clues from the plain blue car the guy drove.

"Boaz Priestly?" the man asked.

"Priestly," he answered.

"Is your first name Boaz?" The guy pronounced it Bose, like the stereo.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Technically."

"Are you Boaz Priestly?"

Priestly tipped his head back warily. "Who are you?"

The man sighed. "Derek Watkins."

"Derek Watkins," he replied slowly, pretending to think. "Doesn't ring a bell." The guy was blocking his door. He considered shoving him out of the way.

"Boaz Priestly?" Derek asked, holding out his clipboard for Priestly to see that he held a plain brown envelope with a typed label that read, _Boaz Priestly_, and which had his address but no return address or stamp.

"What's that?"

"Yes or no?" Watkins asked.

"Yes or no what?" Priestly felt a little like he was playing a game of 'Who's on First?' with the guy.

The guy swallowed and took a breath. "Yes or no, are you Boaz Priestly?"

"Are you the motherfucker that's been calling me?" Priestly asked, catching on, his eyes narrowing. He didn't recognize the guy from Latimer. He'd never seen him around the church.

Now it was the guy's turn to look confused. "What?" When Priestly said nothing, the man shook his head wearily. "Look," he raised his voice exasperatedly, "Are you Boaz Priestly or not? I ain't got all day to be messin' around!"

"Yeah, fuck, whatever, I'm Priestly!" he shouted back.

The guy, Watkins, thrust the envelope into his chest and snarled, "You've been served, Priestly. Have a nice day!"

Served. Fantastic.

He looked down at the envelope, which had fallen to his feet, suspiciously. He slowly bent down and picked it up, then jammed his key into the lock on his apartment door. He wished he had a beer in the fridge. He had a feeling he was going to want one.

When he opened it a few minutes later, he was not surprised. He'd mulled it over as he'd grabbed a glass of water and listened to two more _"I'll get you, my pretty!"_ voicemails from his mystery caller. That was all the confirmation he needed about what the envelope contained: a summons to appear in the matter of the State of Mississippi vs. Dale Scott Bennett on November 17, 2003. A phone number for the state prosecutor's office in Biloxi followed on a cover letter that asked him to call to confirm his availability on the date of demand. Much to his relief, it asked him to call to set up a time for the "local deposition". They weren't asking him to go back to Latimer. Thank God.

He was more relieved about that than anything else, because it told him the threats he was getting were probably empty ones. Someone was probably thinking he'd be showing up in court in Latimer, not walking into a conference room at a center in Santa Cruz that rented out such rooms by the hour.

* * *

After calling to set up and confirm the place and time, Priestly changed into his yard work clothes. Leo's yard was due for some maintenance, and he was glad for it. He needed a distraction from his life, including this new development.

When he surfaced again after a solid two hours of work, he only had to get upstairs to his apartment to come crashing back down to earth. Taped to the door was a note with big, blocky letters:

_This is your last warning. Forget what you know._

Officially freaked out now, he looked around as if the person responsible might just be right there at the curb, waving. He wondered whether he should call the police. All he could really do is show them the note and explain about the deposition. What would they really be able to do, anyway? He decided against it.

Priestly tore the note off the door and crumpled it in his fist. For the first time ever, he locked his door behind him when he went inside to take a shower. Normally, if he was home, it was unlocked.

He stood under the warm spray and thought about the voice. It wasn't Dale Bennett. He wouldn't forget that asshole's sneering tone. He couldn't say he'd ever heard it before, but it wasn't like he went around memorizing voices. All he knew was it sounded male and not particularly old. So, great. He was on the lookout for a dude, probably from Latimer. Yeah, that'd help. Another reason not to bother with the police.

He stepped out of the shower and rubbed one towel over his head before tucking another around his hips. He wiped off the bathroom mirror and considered whether or not he felt like shaving. He had no big plans for the rest of the day and he only had school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so he'd have plenty of time to shave before work tomorrow. Shrugging, he tossed the razor back in the medicine cabinet and wandered into the kitchen for some water, wishing it were beer.

Priestly thought about bussing over to Trucker's place. If he wasn't there, he could hang around the park. It wasn't Wednesday, but there were plenty of rollerbladers to watch. He could take his homework and sit in the park. Or he could go to the beach and do the same thing, find one of the quieter areas and do homework in the sand.

He chose Trucker's place, unsurprised when he discovered no one was home. Trucker was probably out at Steamer Lane with one of his surfing buddies. When Priestly tried to give Trucker back his keys, the surfer had waved them off. "Keep them," he'd said. "If you ever need to borrow something or you're chilling out at the park and need a bathroom, you can come through the back."

So now he let himself into Trucker's place, feeling only a little guilty about the Dos Equis he helped himself to from the fridge. He left a note on the counter that he was in the park in case Trucker came home. He grabbed the same ratty red blanket Trucker had slept on the first night they met, figuring he wouldn't mind if it got a little grass on it.

He'd been to Trucker's every Wednesday since Jude left for school, and he'd felt her absence there every time, but he wasn't prepared for the crashing wave of pain as he stepped into the park. It had become their place, after all. He forced himself to keep going, to find a tree to flop under. He read the chapters for his World Religions class and wrote a short two pager the instructor wanted, pausing every few minutes to watch the rollerbladers and the people with their dogs and wonder if it had been a bad idea after all when all he did was think of Jude.

He'd taken a stab at the email system at Bryn Mawr, guessing that they might assign students a generic email address like ' '. He sent a quick email to both her full name and to her nickname, playing it a lot cooler than he felt.

_Look, Jude, I just wanted to say I understand about the way things went down the last time we saw each other. You never promised me anything, I know that. You drew the lines pretty clearly, in fact. Shit just happened that wasn't supposed to, so I took a shot. And then you shot me down. I can't say "that's cool", because it wasn't cool. But it was honest. I just wanted you to know that I get that. And, you know, if you wouldn't mind keeping in touch (no expectations or strings, I swear!) I'd like to hear from you. And if you come back to Santa Cruz over the holidays or anything, I'm still at the park every Wednesday, jamming out to whatever band is playing. Except if it's country. - Gross!_

_Later. _

_P._

It was almost a week now, and he hadn't heard back. Although, to be fair, he still didn't have his own computer and could only check his email when he was at Trucker's place. But he wondered if the email actually went anywhere or if it was still roaming around in cyberspace. He hadn't gotten any sort of delivery failure notice, so he knew it had gone _somewhere._ Still, he felt like a chump.

Priestly tried to read the chapter for his philosophy class, but he'd lost the ability to concentrate after finishing with the World Religions junk. He tossed the text books and his notebook back into the messenger bag and tucked it under his head, content to just stare up at the sky for a while, just thinking about things.

He stayed until the sun vanished and the air grew cool, wishing he'd thought to bring his jacket. Trucker was on the back deck as he came through the back gate.

"Hey, man," Trucker greeted. "I was wondering if you just caught the bus back without coming through the house first."

"Good surfing today?"

Trucker made a face and the so-so sign with his hand. "What about you? Any new questions?"

"Not tonight," Priestly said, sitting in the chair across from Trucker's. "Got subpoenaed for Bennett's trial today," he said casually.

"Yeah?" Trucker asked evenly.

He nodded. "Deposition's November 17th."

"Latimer?"

He shook his head. "No. They're going to do it here." He thought about whether to mention the calls to Trucker. He didn't want to look like some kind of wimp, but he wasn't sure what to make of the note on his door, either. The note meant it was someone local, and he didn't know anyone local who knew Bennett. "Someone's been calling, telling me I'd better not talk." Priestly thought it might be a good idea to get Trucker's view on things. He was too mellow to be given to panic. "I figured it was someone in Latimer, but when I finished mowing the grass today there was a note on my door telling me the same thing."

Trucker looked at him for a few long moments. "Any idea who it is?"

Priestly shook his head. "The voice on the calls doesn't sound like Bennett. Or anyone else I know."

Trucker sat back in his chair. Priestly could almost see him mulling the news over. "Do you know what number the calls are coming from?"

"Blocked."

Trucker said nothing for a long time. When he finally spoke, he said, "Davis might be able to help. C'mon inside." Curious, Priestly followed Trucker into the office, where he sat down at the laptop and picked up the cordless handset next to it. A few seconds later, Priestly heard, "Davis? Trucker…"

Priestly listened to them talk, grinning at the sight of the sagging old couch he'd put in place of the futon. He eased down on it just as Trucker rattled off his phone number and then said, "Ok. Let me know what you find out."

Trucker turned to him. "He's going to poke around a little and call back in a few minutes."

"What's he going to do?"

"He's…" Trucker rubbed his chin. "He has certain talents with computers," Trucker admitted.

Priestly grinned. "He's a hacker?"

Trucker put his hands up. "Keep that on the down low."

Priestly nodded.

"It'll be a few minutes. I'm going to make dinner. Want some chili?"

"Sure," Priestly said, slipping into the desk chair to check his email. What the hell. He could handle another kick in the teeth, right?

When he saw her name in his email account, he froze, realizing with some surprise he hadn't actually expected a reply. Priestly just stared at it for a minute, afraid to open it. When he finally clicked on it, he almost screwed his eyes shut to avoid seeing whatever popped up.

_Priestly,_

_ I meant what I said. You mean a lot to me. That didn't just vanish because I got on a plane. Just please, please, please…don't answer this email if you aren't willing to stay behind those lines where I want you. If we run into each other in Santa Cruz, I'd love to catch up with you. _

_ Jude_

Well…it was something.

He and Trucker had dinner together in the old booth in the kitchen. Priestly remembered what Jude said about them being in the grill once upon a time and asked Trucker if it was true.

"Yeah," Trucker admitted. "When I first leased the place it took most of everything I had just to get it up and running, so the décor was at the bottom of a very long list of crap that needed attention first. I had these in the grill for the first ten years before I finally hit the bottom of the list of crap. Mostly because when I made the list, I didn't account for the unexpected stuff like equipment failure, plumbing problems, code updates…" He grinned sheepishly.

Though Priestly waited for the phone to ring any second, it didn't ring until Trucker was elbow deep in the sink with the dinner dishes.

"Grab it, will ya?" Trucker asked.

Priestly ducked into the office for the cordless. "Hello?"

There was a pause. "Priestly?" a voice asked hesitantly.

"Yeah. Trucker's here, if you need him."

"Nah. This is Davis. You're the guy getting the phone calls," Davis replied. "So, I used your phone number to trace back what I could on your mystery caller. The calls came from a landline in Biloxi. I didn't find any call forwarding or anything weird, so it looks like the calls really did start there. The account is under the name of an A.T. Bennett. The dude is 78 years old, though, so I'm guessing it wasn't him that actually called. And it doesn't explain the note on your door, either."

"Bennett, huh?" Priestly asked. "So, he's got his relatives hassling me. Great."

"Well, I poked around some more. A.T. Bennett has a couple male relatives listing to the same household. I figure it's probably one of them, so I checked some of the other source numbers dialing _into_ the home account that was calling you and found a couple repeaters that turn out to be cell phones. So," he sighed, "I got into those accounts and found a couple texts to a number in Santa Cruz and _that_ number was to a small business. According to the website I found, it's sort of a hobby company run by a bunch of college kids called 'Crank Prankers'. They specialize in silly stuff like putting a hundred garden gnomes in your front yard in the middle of the night. So I'm guessing the yahoo in Biloxi paid them to slap a note on your door."

Priestly hated how relieved he felt at the sound of that. "Yeah, I guess it's nothing, then. Cool." He glanced up at Trucker, who was in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"Yeah."

"Well, hey, man, thanks," Priestly said. "Trucker's standing here if you want to talk to him."

"Yeah, I guess I could stand the sound of him for a minute," Davis chuckled. "Take care of yourself, Priestly. And, hey, thanks for the invite the other day. That was a good party you started."

"Sure. Thanks for coming." Priestly stood and held the phone out to Trucker. "I'm going to take off," he said as Trucker took it.

"If you wait a minute, I can give you a ride," Trucker offered.

Priestly shook his head. "Nah. It's a nice night. I'll bus it back." He slapped Trucker on the shoulder and headed out.

He thought about Jude all the way home, wondering whether opening that door was the right thing, or if he'd come to regret it. Right now, he didn't. She was loud and clear as always. No relationship. If she was in Santa Cruz and they hung out, great. He thought about her plea: don't answer me if you can't stick to the rules. Could he? Did he want to keep playing by someone else's rules instead of his own?

Too bad his philosophy instructor wouldn't let them draft their own posits. He could spend the entire rest of the semester, maybe even the rest of college, figuring that one out.


	25. Welcome to the Beatdown

_November 17, 2003_

* * *

Priestly stood nervously in the hallway outside the conference room while the attorney and his entourage got set up for his deposition. Trucker smirked at him. He'd insisted on coming, foregoing the surf for the morning in favor of driving Priestly to the meeting. He was secretly relieved to have Trucker there, though he hated his friend's amusement at the sight of him with his flat brown hair, conservative black dress pants and sage green button down. Tucked in, no less. He couldn't help pulling at the cuffs and the neckline, though Trucker kept chiding him about it.

He really hadn't thought there would be much for the lawyers to ask him, considering his role in the actual event was a small one. The lawyer for the state explained, however, that the first part of the deposition would consist of the prosecution's questions for him, followed by questions from the defense attorney. The entire thing would be captured both on video and by a court reporter's transcription.

Between the two, they had him in the room for over three hours. Trucker was allowed to sit in so long as he remained silent. There were times when Priestly was sure he was about to say something, but he kept quiet. He rubbed his forehead a lot. Aside from just questions about what happened with Holly at the church, they asked about his life in general growing up in the church, his relationship with his father, and how he felt about various things seemingly unrelated to the matter at hand. The state prosecutor also asked him to tell them about what happened afterward, so he told them about Dale beating him. The lawyer for the defense tore him apart on that one, badgering him with stuff like 'Why didn't you call the police if you were so badly assaulted?' and 'Why didn't you see a doctor or go to the hospital?' The defense attorney pulled out snapshots of him with his Mohawk, combat boots, studded bracelet, eyeliner and his _I lost my virginity. Can I have yours? _t-shirt and asked him if he thought it was an appropriate shirt to wear in public where young children could see it. The state prosecutor shut the defense down, however, demanding to know when and where the photos were taken and what relevancy Priestly's wardrobe had to the case. The two attorneys went back and forth for a while before, finally, the question was dropped.

The prosecuting attorney made strenuous objections many times, and many times he seemed to win those arguments. Priestly wasn't sure what all the technical stuff meant, and he didn't know how anyone decided the outcome for the objections when there was no judge in the room. Maybe the fact that the video tape would be shown in the courtroom and the transcribed court reporting given to the jury to read over kept them honest. He didn't know. He did know that when he was finally released from the deposition, he felt like he could sleep for a month. He was angry and hurt all over again. The inferences made about him by the defense attorney…that he was no better than Dale Bennett just because he wore a sexually suggestive shirt, for example, left him feeling dazed and raw.

Outside the conference room, Trucker put a hand on his shoulder and just looked at him for a few minutes before tipping his head toward the parking garage. "C'mon. Let's get out of here," he said, giving Priestly a little push.

Priestly walked beside him quietly, mulling the whole thing over. He didn't know what to make of it, whether Dale was any worse off now or not. He sure hoped nothing he said or did or wore kept Holly from seeing justice. God, he'd hate it if that happened.

Trucker tried to draw him out, but Priestly had a headache and just wanted to shut his eyes on the ride back. When the VW stopped and Trucker switched off the ignition, Priestly lifted his head from the window and realized instead of being home, he was in Trucker's driveway. "I figured you needed a beer and didn't have any at your place," he explained.

Priestly grinned a little at that. More likely, his friend wanted to keep an eye on him without being obvious about it. Well, he wasn't going to turn down the beer, so he guessed he'd have to play along and let Trucker babysit him for a while.

The calls had stopped. After the one note on his door, he hadn't received any others. Priestly wondered now, as he unbuttoned the shirt collar and rolled up the shirt sleeves, whether there would be any further harassment. He sat with Trucker out on the back deck and gulped down a beer, smirking when Trucker said,

"It occurs to me I might be sending the wrong message, giving you a beer at a time like this."

"Don't worry, Truck," he said, eyes closed in the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun, "I'm not going to start drowning my sorrows. I know the guy was just a jackass trying to get a rise out of me, trying to paint me as some jerkwad freak with no respect for anyone as a way of discrediting me. Might as well be my fucking Dad."

"Priestly," Trucker said. Priestly opened his eyes at the firm note in his voice. Trucker leaned toward him and looked him steadily in the eye, at least until he turned to look out over the back fence. "Kid, I told you before. You saw what you saw. You told them. Where it goes from here, that's out of your control. You did what you could. You did the right thing. It isn't your fault if things don't come out the way they should."

Priestly's eyes shot to Trucker. "You think they'll let him off?" he asked desperately. God, he hoped not. The thought of him out there walking around and sneering, free to just prey on anyone he wanted… Priestly felt a chill that nearly had him rolling his sleeves back down.

"I don't know," Trucker shrugged helplessly. "I sat in there trying to figure out how it seemed to be going. I don't get all that legal junk."

"Me, neither." He pulled from the bottle again and added, "I'm just glad it's over."

Trucker had him stay for dinner and drove him home afterward. "Remember," he said, "you did what you could."

He nodded. "Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

_November 19, 2003_

"Looking good, man," Mike encouraged, dodging his jab. Priestly ducked his reply but missed the subtle lead of his hip and caught a foot in the gut, spilling to the mat.

"Spoke too soon," Priestly rasped, jumping to his feet, purposely drawing a deep breath in spite of the pain because it seemed to make the pain fade faster. Priestly glanced at the clock as Mike removed one glove and reached for his water bottle.

"You done?" Mike asked, wiping his face with a towel.

"Yeah, I've got class in twenty minutes." Priestly nodded. "Thanks for the pointers."

On the first day of fall classes, Jude's friend, Mike, had run into Priestly at the UCSC fitness center where he stood staring at the bulletin boards with all the private notices, special course offerings, and special interest posts. Priestly had just pulled a phone number tab from an ad for kickboxing classes when someone said behind him, "Hey, man, if you need a sparring partner, I could use the workouts." Admitting to Mike that he'd been a straight-A student who studied piano until he was a junior in high school and didn't know how to fight had taken a lot of humility, but Mike just shrugged it off.

"Dude, I got beat up almost every day of my childhood until I suddenly grew like six inches the summer before eighth grade. When I went back to school that fall, the guys that used to hassle me just assumed I'd suddenly learned how to punch just because I was taller. They left me alone. And _then _I started taking Tae Kwan Do classes."

They reserved one of the empty workout rooms several times a week, and Mike showed him the basics of self defense.

"You have good raw material," Mike encouraged. "You're pretty solid, you move well, and you look like you have an attitude." When Priestly rolled his eyes at that remark, Mike laughed. "Hey, man, if that wasn't what you were going for, I'm sorry, but try to see it from the other side. What would you be thinking if you saw you walking down the street?"

He had to admit that Mike had a point, so he'd let it drop. The good thing about Mike was that you could make a total moron out of yourself in front of the guy and he wouldn't tell anyone. Priestly was glad of it, because his first few matches with Mike had been worse than humiliating. He'd come along pretty well, but he also knew that he was no match for Mike if he ever got on the guy's bad side. Mike had been training since he was fourteen. He'd been training for like five minutes. No contest.

Having lost track of time, Priestly was too late for a full shower, so he just sort of sponged off at the sinks with a few damp paper towels before grabbing his bag and running to his philosophy class. The instructor wasn't there when he got there, however, and didn't show for the next ten minutes. Just as a couple students headed for the door, a clerk from the admissions office came in.

"Can I have your attention?" the clerk waved. He moved over to the white board and picked up a pen. As he began to write something, he said, "Mr. Buchanan won't be able to make class today due to some unexpected family issues. He's asked that you split into your in-class groups and discuss the following question…"

_Can virtue be profitable and still be virtue?_

Priestly jotted the question down and searched out the two girls and the guy that made up his in-class group. When they were all together Nathan suggested they sit down at Starbucks and kick the question around for a few minutes. Priestly nodded. "I have to be at work at three, though, so I might not be able to stay that long."

He rode over to the Starbucks with Nathan, tossing his messenger bag on the floor of the car. They went over the philosophy question first. Priestly filled three full pages of his notebook with quick thoughts and held impromptu interviews of the Starbucks baristas, which the group thought was a great idea, seeing as how it was a for-profit business. A couple other customers chimed in, which always seemed to happen when Priestly began waxing philosophical about anything. Melanie and Erin, the girls in their group, added some references from the textbook from different schools of thought.

Eventually, however, they wandered off into other topics. Priestly lost track of time again, as he was prone to doing, anyway, and when he glanced at the display on his phone he leapt to his feet.

"Shit! I'm going to be late if I don't leave like, ten minutes ago. Can somebody give me a lift to 6th and Nelson?"

"Sure, Priestly," Erin said, rising. "I'm not too far from there."

Climbing in her little Nissan pickup, he tossed his bag down on the floorboard, checking the time on his phone again. Man, he was going to hear it from Joe. Shit. Priestly was not in the mood. Erin turned down the stereo as it came out blasting with the ignition of the engine. "Okay," she said, "so…6th and Nelson?"

He grinned. "That's the place."

They chatted aimlessly about nothing in particular as she drove until suddenly a black car with fleet tags and dark windows slammed on its brakes in front of them before whipping around the corner.

"Jesus!" Erin cried.

He shook his head. "Would it be the end of the world if they had to turn at the next corner and circle back?"

"I know, right?" she nodded.

As Erin pulled to the curb outside the grill a few minutes later, Priestly popped open the door and grabbed his bag off the floor of the truck. "Thanks for the ride," he said, tipping his chin at her by way of goodbye.

As he stood up, he saw the same black car parked across the street from the grill. The windows were too dark for him to see in, but it was almost as if the driver saw _him_ because just as he tried to move to where he could see the plate, the car peeled away from the curb and took off down 6th. He wasn't fast enough to see if it had the same yellow fleet tag as the one before.

Shrugging it off, he tugged open the grill's door, calling loudly, "Hi, honey, I'm home!"

Priestly was relieved as he looked around and saw the place was under control. All he needed was for people to be four deep at the counter. Sally smiled at him from the table she was clearing. Jen peeked at him from the register, where she was tallying the prior day's tickets. Trucker was nowhere to be found out front, so Priestly assumed he was in the back.

Greeting Trucker in the back as he washed his hands was the last chance Priestly had to say anything not sub related. The place went from dead to insane shortly after and stayed insane. Once in a while they all just sort of exchanged glances, wondering where the sudden bottomless supply of customers was coming from. Tourist season in Santa Cruz was officially over after Labor day. Trucker had even warned him that these were typically the lean months, November through the end of February.

"This is crazy," Priestly moaned as another small group entered the shop. He smiled in relief, however, as he realized it was some of the regular construction guys. "Hey!" he called, turning to hand Jen a couple wrapped subs. "Is there something going on out there we don't know about?"

"You didn't hear?" Riley took off his hard hat, pointing over his shoulder. "Moko's Café on 9th is on fire. Everything three doors down on both sides of the street and on the street behind it is evacuated."

Priestly exchanged glances with the others and lifted his eyebrows. That explained the crowds. Displaced workers and patrons, most likely. "Nah, man. All we know is we've been slammed non-stop since about 3:30. Everybody okay?"

Riley shrugged. "I don't know. Pacific's closed between 9th and 10th. There are fire rigs all over the place, total chaos."

"Any firemen that come in eat free tonight," Trucker announced, spooning soup as fast as he could.

Jen slid orders under the rail faster than Priestly could fill them. Joe had gone home, but Sally offered to stay and was zipping around the dining room. Priestly didn't know what they would be doing right now or how they'd be doing it if she'd gone home, too.

"Truck?" he called out as he flipped 8 portions of meat for subs, "we need more people working here."

"Tell me about it," he snorted, looking skyward as the door pulled open yet again.

Priestly glanced over his shoulder. "Firemen, Trucker…" he said, nodding his head back at them as Jen asked if the fire was under control yet.

"Yeah," one guy nodded. "It's out now. Finally. The B crew was just coming in to finish up when we left."

Trucker turned and gestured at them. "C'mon, guys, you can wash up in the back room. It's got a deeper sink than the bathrooms. I'll show you."

"Hey, thanks," the guy said. Four firemen proceeded to troop after Trucker into the back room. They were equally pleased when Trucker refused their money.

The tips were good. Especially from the grateful firefighters, but by the end of the night Priestly thought he might just flop on the floor and go to sleep. Trucker asking him to go lock the front door was the only thing that kept him from doing it. He reached in his pocket for his key ring, which held his apartment key, Trucker's house and gate keys, and the keys to the front and back doors of the grill.

"Shit," he frowned, slipping into the back room to check his bag. They weren't in there, either. He thought back to the way he'd slung his bag on the floor of Erin's truck and, before that, Nathan's car. Since his bag just had a flap and didn't zip, they must have fallen out. He pulled out his phone and told Trucker, "I think I dropped my keys. I can't find them." Someone picked up at the other end. "Erin?"

"Yeah…" the voice on the other end of the phone was wary. "Who's this?"

"Priestly," he said. He'd never had to use the phone numbers for his philosophy group before, but he was glad he had them now.

"Hi. What's going on?"

"Can you check the floor of your truck for a set of keys?"

"Uh-oh. Sure hang on…" He heard a lot of rustling and then nothing until a minute or two later when she came back to the line. "No, they're not here. I really looked, too. Under the seat and under the mat and everything."

"Thanks, anyway."

"Do you need a ride or something?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'll see you Friday."

"Ok," she answered. Priestly heard her disconnect.

Trucker locked the door and continued cleaning up as Priestly dialed Nathan. "Fuck," he muttered as he got his voicemail. "Nathan, it's Priestly. I think I must have dropped my keys in your car today. If you find them on the floor, call me back. I'm locked out." He rattled off his number even though he knew Nathan's caller ID would have it.

"You're not locked out. I've got a key you can use," Trucker said.

"I know. But I figured it would sound more urgent that way."

He slogged through cleanup and the next day's prep alongside Jen and Trucker. Sally finally left, at Trucker's insistence, at eight o'clock. It felt like forever before Trucker asked the usual question: Anybody need a ride?

In the VW, Trucker asked, "Would you mind if we just ordered a pizza or something instead of barbecuing?"

"Nope," Priestly said, eyes closed, moving only his mouth to reply.

Somehow, though, he got a second wind after they ate and asked Trucker if he could use the laptop to do his homework.

"Yeah, man. But do you mind if I turn in?"

"Nah. I'll let myself out."

"You can crash on the couch if you get too tired to go home," Trucker offered.

"Thanks," Priestly nodded.

"The keys are on the counter. Don't forget them. And that ring has my only other set for the back gate, so don't lose them."

"Mine aren't lost," Priestly reminded him. Nathan called back to confirm he had them, but he wouldn't be able to get them back to Priestly until the next morning.

He drafted a five page essay on the group's "virtue" discussion before deciding he'd had enough fun for one night. He saved the draft, figuring he'd come back the next day to finalize and print it off. Technically, he had the day off, but he'd probably see if Trucker needed help at the grill. Since he knew he'd be back the next day, he left his bag on the back of the office chair.

Priestly let himself out the front door, not wanting Trucker to wake up if he used the door in Trucker's bedroom that led to the back deck. Trucker told him it was okay, but the last couple times Priestly used it, he'd woken the guy up. Cutting through the park was the fastest way to the bus stop that would get him home, though, so Priestly locked the front door and went around through the side gate into the back yard and from there, through the back gate.

It was late. From a distance, he could see the band that played that night just packing the last of their gear in an old Ford Econoline van, slamming the doors. The lights rigged to the gazebo suddenly flipped off, plunging the area into a darkness that the scattered walkway lights didn't quite reach. The few people who'd stayed to the very last song were wandering back to their cars and homes, blankets tucked under arms and coolers in hand.

As he drew closer, Priestly saw the red glow of a cigarette in the shadowy darkness near the now darkened gazebo. A voice called out,

"Priestly?"

Squinting into the darkness as if it would help him see, he asked, "Do I know you?"

"No," the voice answered. "But you're going to. And you're going to wish you didn't."

Priestly considered his options, altering his course away from the advancing figure. Too late to go back to Trucker's. He'd never get the gate unlocked in time. It was just one guy, but it was one guy who could be armed. A guy who, Priestly guessed, was the driver of the black car. A guy who he also guessed was Bennett's crank calling relative. He definitely had Bennett's size in common.

Priestly knew turning his back on the guy wouldn't be a good idea, and he was coming too fast to keep walking _without_ turning his back on the guy. So he just stopped and waited for the inevitable confrontation, wondering what he could use besides his fist and his feet. _Keys. _ He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, sliding his index finger through the key ring before poking the spines of the keys up through his fingers. He kept his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

"Bennett," Priestly said flatly. It was a guess, but it was the right guess. The guy's eyes widened just a little.

"How'd you know that?" a humorless grin spread across the guy's face.

"Family resemblance," Priestly said. "Pervert must be in the bloodline."

The guy's face darkened. "Thought I told you to forget the bullshit you thought you knew."

"Can't forget the truth," Priestly shrugged, stepping back as Bennett stepped forward.

The first lesson Mike taught him was that the best thing was to just not be there when the fist or foot came, so Priestly did as advised and watched Bennett's shoulders and hips…the points where punches and kicks began. He had to take his hand out of his pocket, though, because it was throwing his balance off.

Bennett managed to land the first blow in that moment, connecting with Priestly's jaw with the force of a guy who looked to be about 6'4" and 240. Priestly was three inches shorter and easily sixty pounds lighter, so it felt just great. He popped Bennett in the nose, keys and all, and took a few big steps backward as he reeled. He knew better than to think they were done. He watched carefully, still backing away.

He should have known better than to think a guy like Bennett would fight fair. A few blows later, when it was apparent Priestly might actually win the fight, two other guys stepped out of the shadows, each one just as large as Bennett. All the ducking and evading in the world wasn't going to save him. There was no way a fight of three against one would end well for him. That left one option, an option he hated.

Run.

Run like hell.


	26. Broken, Beat & Scarred

_**DISCLAIMER: The only characters I own are the OC's (Jude, Leo, etc.). I don't own the canon TIH, but I own the AU prequel events and circumstances (if you remove all canon aspects, characters, etc, that is!)**_

* * *

Trucker reached for the phone before remembering it was still in the office. Forcing his eyes open, he tried to read the numbers on the clock. It figured. First decent sleep he'd had in a while, ruined.

With a huge yawn, he grabbed the handset from the charging base and fumbled for the little button that would answer the line.

"Hello?"

There was something like static on the other end.

"Hello?"

"T…Tuh…"

"Speak up, I can't hear you," he leaned forward, putting his other hand up against his ear.

"Truck?" came a thick voice, like someone with a bad cold. A soft grunt. Maybe a gasp. He wasn't sure.

Oh, no.

"Priestly?" he asked, his heart suddenly racing. That quickly, like it had always been, he was fully alert and moving to his room for clothes. He didn't know what it was yet, but he was going to be ready.

"Uhnnhnn…"

He took that as a yes.

"Priestly, where are you?"

_Find out where, don't waste time on details. It doesn't matter what or why. Just find him._

He pulled on jeans with one hand, zipping them. The button could wait.

"Priestly!" he called forcefully when there was no answer.

_Jesus, kid, where are you?_

"Park," was the faint response. What sounded like a moan, followed by a cough. "…'zeebo."

Trucker shoved his feet into a pair of Vans and tugged a sweatshirt over his head before bolting into the backyard. He made it all the way to the gate before he remembered Priestly had his only other set of padlock keys. He tugged on the lock, hoping Priestly had left it open. Nope. Dutifully locked. Still gripping the phone, he hurried back through the house, snatching his keys from the kitchen counter.

"I'll be right there!" he called into the phone, hoping Priestly heard him. Then he hung up and hit the porch at a jog, taking the steps by twos, pausing to yank up and button his jeans when they began to sag down and trip him at the cuffs.

The Toyota was blocked in by the van. Trucker hoped to God the VW was going to cooperate. He almost had the thing on two wheels at the corner. Thinking of the park, he pictured the gazebo's location, just east of the center, and tried to figure the best, fastest way to get there. He swung the van onto the wide sidewalk that bordered the east edge of the park, driving right down it like the maintenance trucks did. When he saw the gazebo, he stopped and leapt out of the van, door still open and engine idling.

"Priestly?" he called.

The night was still and quiet and didn't answer back.

Trucker ignored the dread that weighed his legs down, reminding him of how they felt in dreams. You try to run, but your legs feel like they weigh a ton apiece. He stopped involuntarily when he rounded the corner and saw the kid crumpled face down at the foot of the gazebo's three stairs, one shoulder and his head on the first step, the other arm flopped on the cement, his hand still loosely holding his open phone.

"Priestly?" he asked, cautiously crouching down beside him while his eyes carefully roved over the surrounding area. There was nothing waiting in the shadows. He was certain. He'd never been wrong.

Trucker turned his full attention to the viciously beaten kid at his feet. Blood everywhere, oozing and pooling and spattered around the pavement like a Jackson Pollock painting. So much he wasn't sure just where it was all coming from. _Who _it was all coming from.

Very gently, he placed his palm on Priestly's back, relieved beyond belief when he felt the rise and fall. "Priestly?"

With a wet moan and a strangled sound, Priestly's body jerked. "Trucker?"

"Yeah. Just me," he said softly. When the kid tried to move, he cautioned, "Easy. Take it slow." He slid the phone out of Priestly's hand and flipped it closed. He tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Priestly struggled for a minute, curling around his right side and groaning. Trucker was afraid to touch him, afraid of making something worse instead of better. It was all he could do not to gasp. Although Trucker would guess there was more than one assailant, someone had clearly been left-handed, because when the right side of his face came into view, it was even worse than the first. His right eye was swollen shut and very dark. His whole face was a riot of blood and the shadows of bruises, his upper and lower lips puffed huge and split wide open on the right side.

Trucker heard a weird jingle as Priestly sat up more fully. Trucker eased behind him so that he wouldn't fall backward as he seemed about to do. He took Priestly's weight against his shoulder and saw the kid look down at something. With a sound that was either a laugh or a sob, Priestly muttered,

"Lot of good you did."

Trucker realized he was looking at the keys still clutched in his fist. He felt the kid sag a little and said, "Stay with me, Priestly. We've got to get you out of here."

It didn't do much good. Priestly was barely conscious as Trucker both pushed from behind and pulled upward, careful to avoid his more favored right side. But the only way he could see to get Priestly into the van was to have the kid put an arm around his shoulders. Lifting his right arm that high would hurt what were probably a couple broken ribs on his right side. But lifting his left arm meant Trucker would be forced to press his arm against them to help support him. And a fireman's carry was out for the same reason.

"Priestly, you have to put your right arm across my shoulders," Trucker told him firmly.

Priestly roused enough that he was able to help Trucker. With a sharp cry, he managed to flop his right arm around Trucker's shoulders, though he hunched the rest of his body over to the right. Trucker held his left side firmly, though at first he felt Priestly flinch hard there, too. He was gasping like he'd run a marathon before they'd even gone a few steps, so Trucker slowed down. Way down. He felt Priestly's legs give out a little and stopped completely for a minute before trying again. He kept up a one sided conversation trying to keep the kid awake.

"Stay with me," he repeated, over and over. "C'mon, Priestly, stay with me."

Getting him into the van was easier than getting him _to_ the van had been, but the motion jarred, and Priestly hissed in pain. Trucker closed the door, hoping the kid wasn't falling out of it as he did. He backed the van down the sidewalk as quickly as he dared, bringing the bus to a nearly complete stop as he reached the street. There was no putting a seatbelt on the kid, so he knew the slightest bump was going to hurt him.

Trucker didn't know whether to be grateful or afraid when just the van coming down off the curb put him out.

* * *

Pain. Everywhere.

Bennett junior proved to be worse than senior. He thought he might throw up. Priestly opened his eyes, remembered Trucker. He tried to figure out where they were. His head was foggy. The night was just a blur of lights against a blackness that slid into and around his vision. It was all blackness on the right. They passed a stoplight. He recognized the sign. He tried to lift his hand to point to the right.

"Missed the turn," he mumbled softly, rolling his head Trucker's way.

"Wherever you think we're going, we're not," Trucker told him. "We're going to Dominican."

Hospital. Oh. Yeah. That made sense.

Everything was fuzzy but painful. Like razor-edged fleece, if there was such a thing. He breathed in as deeply as he could. That was supposed to kill the pain quicker, wasn't it? Maybe not. He tried shallow breaths. They made him dizzy and more nauseous. He rolled his head back toward the window.

When he next became aware of anything a guy in blue scrubs was beside him, talking.

Priestly watched his lips move and tried to make sense of the words.

"Hey, Priestly, can you hear me?"

He rolled his head on the seat to look more closely at the guy. "Yeah," he exhaled the word, trying not to piss off any of the angry, throbbing places.

"I need you to help me get you out of there. Can you turn yourself toward the door? Can you do that for me?"

He did as the guy asked, an inch at a time. Slow motion helped. Slow motion made things less impossible. The guy was patient, Priestly thought vaguely. You had to give him that.

"You know what, man, can you come over here with that gurney?" Blue scrubs dude said to someone. "Yeah, man, thanks. The wheelchair isn't going to cut it." Turning back to Priestly, he said, "Alright, Priestly. Can you stand up? Just for a second?" The guy took his left arm as he stood. In a careful dance, Priestly turned and the guy said, "Ok, just fall back. We've got you."

He eased back by degrees, clenching his jaw though it lit with white hot fire that boomeranged through him. Strong hands delivered him to a flat surface, his head and shoulders slightly inclined. Maybe now he could sleep. Or not. Another voice was now urging him,

"Priestly? I need you to look at me. Can you look at me?"

He tried. What light he could find hurt him. The noises bounced off the inside of his skull and back into his brain like sharp little guided missles. He became aware of Trucker's voice somewhere distant. He couldn't make out the words. Just Trucker. He dropped off to someone tugging at his clothes.

* * *

Trucker waited in the ER as they took Priestly away for X-rays and a CT scan. When they finally wheeled him back into the ER, he was unconscious again or seemed to be until they began washing the many bloodied parts of him. He flinched away and moaned. A nurse put something in the IV taped to the back of his hand. After giving it a few moments to trace its way through his veins, she began washing again. Trucker watched the blood soaked cotton balls pile up in the plastic kidney dish the nurse had balanced on the left side of his chest. The doctor advised they'd found three broken ribs on the right side, simple fractures with no internal bleeding. His nose was broken, and he had a concussion. There were two lacerations they'd stitch: one above his right eye, the other the tear in his lower lip.

"Other than that, it's just a lot of bad contusions, bruised kidneys. I imagine he's going to feel like he's been run over by a truck for a few days."

The police made an appearance. Trucker told him what he knew, which wasn't much. He also told them what he thought happened, about the calls and the note. He left out the research Davis had done. Even if useful, it wouldn't have been admissible in any court. Trucker knew that much from television and books he'd read. If the police wanted to pull Priestly's phone records, they could find out the same things, though it would probably take longer.

"What happens now?" Trucker asked the doctor. "When are you going to release him?"

"We'll keep him overnight and see how he does. If he's coherent tomorrow, we'll release him. We've given him something for the pain and something to help him rest."

"Can I stay with him?" Trucker asked, hesitant to leave.

The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile as the doctor left the stall. "You can, though I'd recommend you go home and get some rest. I promise you, he'll be out until tomorrow. He won't even notice whether you're here or you aren't. And he'll need something to wear home since we had to cut his clothing off," she reminded him.

Trucker sighed. He sat with Priestly for a few minutes after they brought him to a regular room, clean and freshly stitched, with a butterfly bandage across the stitches over his eyebrow and another narrow bandage across his nose. His eyes, both black, were closed. The right one was still also very red and grotesquely swollen. His lips were puffed up on the right side and mottled with bruises, and there were a couple stitches on the bottom lip that ran partway down his chin. Both sides of his jaw sported shadows, and he knew that under the thin greenish-blue gown, Priestly had fresh bruises all over his torso and likely also on his back. He felt a little sick looking at the kid. Where was his radar when Priestly was walking home? Why hadn't he seen it coming?

He stood to leave and, thinking those thoughts, was almost unable to go. But the night nurse came in to check his vitals and said,

"Go on home now. I'll be here until six, and I promise you, I'll take good care of him."

He met her kind eyes for a few moments then nodded. "Thank you."

"I'd want someone to do the same if he were my son," she said.

He didn't bother to correct her. He just nodded again and strode quickly from the room, before he changed his mind.


	27. Same Mistakes

**_Yeah, yeah. Same as always: I own no part of Ten Inch Hero, but I do own my OC's, plot devices and themes, if you could somehow manage to separate them from canon and still have something that made any kind of sense. _**

* * *

_Thanksgiving Day, 2003 _

When the knock sounded on the door, Priestly glanced at his phone for the time. Trucker wasn't supposed to pick him up to go to dinner at Sally's until around four. It was much earlier than that. Pressing his right hand to his still sore ribs, he stood up. After waiting a second to see if there'd be any of the occasional dizziness he'd been experiencing, he went to the door.

His heart stuttered when he saw who stood there.

"Jude," he said, cracking a smile and stepping aside. It was when her face paled and her mouth dropped open that he remembered how he looked…and that he hadn't had any way to tell her about it.

"My God, Priestly…" she said, just staring at him in shock. "Who did that to you?"

"C'mon in," he said when she didn't move. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No," she said sharply. "Sit down!"

He fought the corners of his mouth at her scolding tone. It was good to see her, but he wasn't sure he was up to any more pain. He put his hand against his ribs again and sat with a hiss he tried to muffle. They were actually a lot better than they had been, but they still hurt like a bitch if he moved wrong. Sitting down and getting up again were both within that definition.

Her eyes roved over his face, taking obvious inventory of the bruises and shadows of bruises and the still angry red slash over his right eyebrow and the other at his lip. Her hand moved to trace there, and he flinched back a little before he could help himself. Her touch, however, was so light it didn't hurt.

"Jesus," she said softly, her eyes bright. "What happened?"

There was no way not to tell her. It wouldn't make much sense without the full story, three guys just randomly beating him in the park last Wednesday night. He'd already told her some things about his father, but he hadn't told her about Bennett. He glanced at her and turned the television off. She waited, watching him steadily. Dipping his head, he told her the story, meeting her eyes at various points and avoiding them at others. When he finished, she was silent for so long that he glanced up at her just in time to see her wiping her cheeks with both hands.

She looked troubled, and she leaned into him a little, rubbing the pad of her finger along the fresh scar on his lip. It wasn't too bad. Trucker said he thought it would hardly be visible after a while. When Jude pressed her lips to his softly, he tensed up. Not because it hurt, but because he was afraid that getting physical with her would just tear open other less visible scars. But he was unable to stop the rush of feeling. It was like she said…the feelings didn't stop just because she got on a plane. Understanding the lines she'd drawn and knowing they were there didn't stop them, either.

Even knowing those things, he let himself enjoy the feel of her mouth sliding against his and the feel of her yielding when he gently ran his tongue along her bottom lip. He let her ease the hem of his shirt upward to continue her inventory, feeling somehow guilty when she looked dismayed over the still very colorful bruises she found there. When she lowered his shirt again, he reached out and tucked her hair over her ear so she couldn't hide behind the curtain of it. She shook her head.

"I leave you alone for a couple of months…" she joked, her voice husky. She was rattled. He'd learned quickly that her favorite forms of defense were sarcasm and humor.

He let one corner of his mouth quirk up but said nothing.

She just looked at him again for a long minute. "Did the police catch them?"

Priestly nodded. "One of them. Troy Bennett. Dale Bennett's nephew," he added. "He's refusing to give up the other guys, but last time I heard from the detective, they were pretty sure they knew who the other two were. Now it's just a matter of finding them."

"So, is he in jail?"

"Last I heard," Priestly agreed. "The police are pretty sure the other two are gone, though, because they confirmed Troy had a black rental car that matched the description of the one I saw, and it was returned on time the next day. They've also confirmed the flight Troy was on."

"So he's not in jail here anywhere?"

"No. He made it back to Latimer before they could arrest him. I guess he had some warrants in Mississippi, so the local fuzz were more than happy to help out."

"But what about the other two?"

Priestly shrugged. "They flew home to Latimer also, but since Bennett got picked up first, they had time to hide, I guess."

"That's…" she searched for words. "That's really messed up. I mean, they actually flew here just to find you and beat you up?"

He sighed. "His story is they came here to visit friends. He says he knew I happened to live here and he just wanted to scare me off of ruining an innocent guy's life. He's a good fucking liar, though, because you know what else he said?"

"What?"

"He said he was at the park with his buddies listening to the concert, and he happened to see me walking through the park after it ended. Couldn't miss me, seeing as how I have this unique hairstyle and all," Priestly pointed to his blue Mohawk. "Said he'd seen the photos his uncle's attorney's P.I. took of me."

Jude frowned. "Photos? What photos?"

He explained about the deposition and the photos and the way the defense attorney tried to paint him as some angry, disrespectful I-don't-give-a-shit type who falsely accused Bennett because he hated his father and was in the throes of some sort of full on, anti-Christ rebellion.

"That's ridiculous," she said.

"That's what the state prosecutor said," Priestly told her.

"It's almost like this is the defense attorney's fault. I mean, if they hadn't taken those photos, how would these guys ever have found you?"

"Well, they had to have gotten my address and my phone number from my dad," he answered. He'd been thinking about it a lot. Nothing else made sense. His mother knew his address and phone number. She was guileless enough to just have it right in her address book. So while he never talked to his father and didn't specifically give it to him, he would have access to it. It would be free for the taking. The anger that burned inside Priestly as he'd realized the only way Bennett's nephew could have gotten the information was through his own father was hot and dark and infinitely deep. And still, the hurt was even worse.

Jude paled again. She discreetly swiped at more tears.

They shared a companionable silence. Jude slid her hand into his and squeezed. He felt it in his chest, in his throat. _Don't,_ he thought. _Don't do this when you're just going to leave again on Sunday night with those stupid lines still drawn. _She was right. He knew she was right. Because if he was this ready to just…just welcome her back knowing he'd be left twisting again in a few days, well, he was seriously fucked up in the head. And yet he sat beside her on the futon, letting her rub her thumb over the back of his hand and sure as shit didn't pull away.

He sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, covering. "Just still sort of tired. And I've had a nonstop headache for the last seven days. Post concussion syndrome or some shit like that."

"That stinks."

"Tell me about it."

"Have you been off work since it happened?" she asked, still rubbing with her thumb.

"I tried to go back on Tuesday. Trucker threw me out after a couple hours when he caught me leaning against the deep freeze door on my break. I guess I was half asleep just standing there. The grill is closed today and tomorrow. He said I could try again on Saturday, though, if I wanted." He glanced over at her. "Shit, at this point it isn't about want. It's about rent. And I don't even want to think about the hospital bill." He shook his head. The missed pay he could make up with what little he had in savings. The rest, he wasn't sure. School next semester…that would be rough. He was going to really think about finding a second job. Once he could stay awake for eight hours at a stretch again, anyway.

Jude stayed at his apartment until just after three. "I have to go. Can I see you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm pretty much a lame duck. Even if I wanted to do the whole Black Friday thing, I couldn't. What about you? Don't you want to get out there and shop?"

She made a face. "No way. I like to shop as much as the next girl, but getting up early just to duke it out with someone over something no one really needs, anyway? Not so much."

He chuckled and held his ribs to rise and walk her to the door, but she put her hand against his shoulder and pushed him back against the futon.

"Oh, no, you don't," she said. Stroking his still shadowy jaw, she said softly, "I'll let myself out."

First, though, she kissed him. The problem with her kisses was that he could feel everything that was swirling around inside her. Words she didn't say but wanted to. The longings and the stubborn boundaries. Those stupid, stupid lines. When she pulled away, he wanted to draw her back again, but he forced the urge down. Now or later, he had to let her go. Again.

* * *

Trucker waited for Priestly to ease down the steps to the apartment. He'd offered to have Priestly stay with him, telling him he'd take the couch and Priestly could use his bed. He'd refused the offer. It had taken ten minutes for the kid to just make it upstairs that first day home. Trucker stayed at his place instead, sleeping over for two nights on the futon. He'd have stayed a third, but Priestly kicked him out, rolling his good eye at him.

"I'm not going to fall in the shower, Truck," he snorted. The sarcasm was what convinced Trucker it was okay to go home. The fact that he was back to eye rolling was an unexpected relief.

Trucker grinned remembering it, but he was careful to put on a neutral face as Priestly slowly slid into the Causemobile beside him. In honor of the day, apparently, Priestly wore a shirt that read, _I didn't climb to the top of the food chain to be a vegetarian._

Trucker nodded at the shirt. "That's good," he said. "Otherwise Sally'd probably make you eat on the porch. This is one family that takes their turkey very seriously."

"Right on," Priestly grinned. "I love me some turkey!"

Sally and Scooter were two only children who didn't have kids of their own. The few family members they still had lived in the east and in the Midwest. Like most people in that position, they built a family out of their local friends and friends of friends. Anyone they heard about who had no place to be for the holidays got an invitation. Over the years, their gathering had grown to nine people. Now, with Priestly, it would be ten. Almost every face was one that Priestly knew already, but Sally introduced the couple he wouldn't know.

"These are our neighbors, Simon and Jean Fallon, Priestly. Jean, Simon, this is Priestly. He works with me down at the grill."

They were an older couple. Trucker thought of them as the original hippies. Simon wore Grateful Dead and Doors t-shirts virtually every time he saw him, and Jean's long white hair was always in a braid. She wore long, loose broomstick skirts with colorful t-shirts and a chambray over shirt. Their uniforms seldom changed. Their views were liberal and loud. Both were intelligent and outspoken. Only their hearts were as big as their mouths.

"What the heck happened to you, Priestly?" Jean said, looking at him in surprise.

Priestly, used to the question by now, made a joke out of it, pointing at his shirt. "It was a rough climb," he smirked.

Jean hooted and elbowed Simon. "I like this kid," she said. "I like you," she told Priestly, peering over the edge of her back-in-style Lennon glasses.

"Hi, Priestly," Jen said. She couldn't afford to make it home this year, so Sally had insisted she come. "I think Sally wants you to sit beside me," she said.

Trucker saw that Sally had placed him at the end of the table where he wouldn't have to squeeze past anyone. "So that puts me next to this ugly mug," Trucker joked, making his way past the Fallons to sit beside Davis. He nodded at Mel Shipley across the table. The man was incredibly intelligent but socially awkward. Trucker often thought he might be obsessive compulsive or struggle with some type of mild social disorder. He seemed to stick to certain routines and of all the regulars, he was the one most likely to get into confrontational arguments with Priestly over his topic of the day. He sometimes stormed out of the grill without paying, but he was always back the next day to correct the mistake with an "all is forgiven" attitude. No matter how many rounds he went with Priestly, he didn't seem to take it personally.

Sally stepped back to let Scooter in with the bird. Trucker caught a glimpse of a dejected looking Jetta staring in through the sliding glass door to the back deck. The dog slid down, nose to the glass. He laughed.

"I think your dog is trying to open the door with her mind, Angel," he told Sally. Everyone turned to look, causing the dog to rise again, hopefully.

Priestly grimaced but then chuckled. "If she opens the door, I'm taking her home with me," he joked.

Sally smiled. "We figured it was a good idea that Jetta stay outside until dinner is over. She almost pulled a 'Christmas Story' on us last year. Scooter caught her just rising up on her hind feet. I think he about had a heart attack."

Scooter laughed as he carved. "I'd have killed that dog for sure," he said. "You don't mess with a hungry man's turkey."

Everyone laughed appreciatively. When Sally gave the blessing, her head dipped and her eyes closed, she went around the table from memory, highlighting her thanks for each guest. "Lord," she said, "I'm thankful for my Scoot–most days, anyhow–and for Trucker for being a good boss and good friend. Thank you for Davis, who always fixes the computer for us, usually by showing us where the power switch or the control, alt, and delete buttons are. Thank you for our good neighbors, Simon and Jean, who always bring us good wine and good company. Thanks for Rawley, the new friend we met at Trucker's birthday party. Thanks for Priestly. Lord, please help him heal up quickly so he can get back to the grill. We really need him, and we're very glad he's still with us. Thanks for Jen, though it was her internet page that's got us all so crazy busy. And last but never least, thank you for Mel, one of my favorite regulars. May you always help him finish his crossword puzzles. Keep watch over these people I love, Lord, and bless this table. Amen."

As she'd gone around the table with her witty blessing, they punctuated it with good natured laughter. After a chorus of 'amen!' the plates began to fly around the table. Trucker thought that for every one guest they added, the food seemed to triple. Sally had a folding banquet table set up behind her dining table just to find room for all the platters and bowls. Everyone heaped the servings high and joked about the impending food coma.

After the food was cleared and the dishes were stacked in the sink for later, everyone gathered on the back deck. Jetta soaked up as much attention as she could get, wandering from person to person and back again. Trucker was amused to see that the dog kept gravitating toward Priestly, though, almost like a little mother hen. He found it interesting that the dog hadn't repeated her prior enthusiastic greeting. In turn, Priestly seemed content to scratch behind her ears and down her back, mostly listening to the conversation around him. Trucker wondered about whether he should discourage Priestly from coming back to the grill on Saturday. The kid still seemed to tire out easily.

"Hey, man," Davis leaned in close to him as conversation shifted to the fire last week at Moko's. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yeah, sure."

Davis rose. Everyone stopped to look at him. "Sally," he said, "thanks for a great meal. It sure beat the TV dinner I had planned."

She moved over to hug him. "You have to go?"

He nodded. "Yeah. But I'll see you at Christmas, right?"

She smiled. "Unless something happens with the computer before then," she joked.

He kissed her cheek and shook Scooter's hand as he moved over to join his wife in the send off. "Scooter," Davis said, nodding at him.

"I'm going to walk him out," Trucker said. "I'll be right back."

Whatever Davis had to say, he clearly wanted to say it away from the rest of them. When he saw Trucker looking at him, he said in a low voice, "Don't worry, man, it's good news."

He waited until Davis had mounted and started his motorcycle to ask what was going on. "Just thought you'd want to know," Davis said loudly over the roar of the engine, but not so loudly that anyone on the back deck would hear, "the police picked up the other two guys in Biloxi yesterday morning."

That _was_ good news. Trucker nodded and thanked him, slapping him on the back. A weight he hadn't known he was carrying lifted off his back. Maybe he could finally get a good night's sleep.

* * *

**_A/N: You will notice in the coming chapters (and may have noticed in the last couple chapters) that time skips along more quickly, with less of the day-to-day. This is for several reasons. My intent was to show that the origin of Priestly as we know him from TIH (at least in my imagination, but also loosely based on something I read about Betsy Morris having said that he would have come from a fundamentalist Christian background) stemmed from a sort of "big bang crisis" and the resulting fall out. We are now over halfway through the "fallout". My second intent is to address my disappointment over one aspect of the TIH ending: Priestly's transformation for Tish. So, long story short, if you've read this far, thank you. I hope you'll keep reading through the changing passage of time. :) _**


	28. Break Stuff

_January 10, 2004  
_

Priestly glanced at the clock by his bed and thought of the old phrase: _If you continue to do what you've always done, you'll continue to get what you've always gotten. _Those might not have been the exact words. He'd heard it several ways. But it boiled down to the same result, and that spelled dumbass.

Jude rolled away from him in her sleep, her hair spilling down her bare back, revealing the tattoo she'd gotten during Thanksgiving break, just to the left of the base of the back of her neck. She was killing him with her mixed messages while denying any intent to do so. He almost reached out to stroke the cherries there, where he often put his mouth and made her shiver, but he knew it would probably wake her up.

Priestly wondered which of them was actually getting what they wanted. Jude wanted desperately to keep things simple. Friends with benefits, she insisted. No promises, no commitments, no long distance relationship. Same song, but it was getting to sound very hollow when they seemed to pick up right where they left off every time she set foot back in Santa Cruz. He wanted her to realize that she could call it anything she wanted, but they were, in fact, in a relationship. Just because she pretended they were done each time she left for Pennsylvania didn't mean it was true. She was really only pushing the pause button.

He sighed and looked at the clock again. He used to be such a good sleeper. Since the concussion, however, he was having trouble staying asleep. He wanted it back, his ability to just doze off anywhere. It was how he tuned out the world when it got too loud or too sharp.

Just when he managed to fall asleep again, his alarm went off. Jude rolled toward him again. He loved it when she looked at him like that, with sleep drugging her. Soft, warm, and slightly confused. She broke into a grin. He couldn't help but smirk back at her.

"Better get dressed," he teased, "or I'll make you late."

Sunrise surfing. He didn't personally get it, but then, he didn't surf. Trucker got it. He'd seen Jude at Steamer Lane a few times in the last month since she'd been home for winter break. He said she could put some of the guys he knew to shame.

Priestly watched her as she moved, enjoying the unabridged view of her long, bronze legs as she stepped into her thong. Red. He sighed. She had a thing for red. And she looked really, really good in it, so he had a thing for it, now, too. The black board shorts that were her favorite. Red strapless bra that matched the thong. Little black halter top. He sighed again. She looked over her shoulder at him with a mischievous look.

He'd just closed his eyes when she sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. With a wicked grin, she pulled the covers aside where they'd become tented as he watched her. He met her stare as she wrapped her hand around him. She made short work of him, then leaned over and kissed him, her hair tickling his chest. He felt the bed rise slightly as she got up. He thought he should get up, too, and clean up, but his bones had wandered off somewhere for a minute. Maybe when they returned…

He lifted his head as something hot and damp landed on his chest. Jude stood by the bed again. He took the washcloth she'd dropped on his stomach and cleaned himself up with it.

"My mom's back today," she said over her shoulder as she left the room. "No more sleepovers."

"Bummer!" he called after her. He heard her laugh just before the front door closed.

* * *

_January 16, 2004_

Jude sat on Priestly's knee at Pete's Southern Lounge as they waited for a pool table to open up. Patrick and Kelly were dancing to _Cherry Pie_, as covered by a local band called Mud Slither. Priestly leaned forward and gave Jude's cherry tattoo a little nip. She smirked at him, taking the beer Mike handed her along with her change. Mike gave him one of the other two and raised his eyebrows as he caught sight of his date du jour swinging her hips suggestively on the dance floor. He sat his beer down with a decisive clunk and moved to join her out on the floor. Priestly lifted his eyebrows and glanced out at the dance floor, a little relieved when she made a face and shook her head.

Priestly just sat with Jude through a couple more songs, trying not to think about the fact that this was the last night he'd see her until she came home to Santa Cruz again. As it often did, fate rubbed his face right in it as the band switched to a ballad and the dance floor emptied out and Mike and his date returned to their corner.

"So, Judy," Mike smirked, calling her by a nickname that irritated the hell out of her, "when do you leave for school?"

"Sunday morning," she answered absently, checking a text that came in on her phone. "What about you? When do classes start at UCSC?"

"20th," Mike shrugged. "Last year, then they unleash me on the world."

"That's scary," Priestly joked.

Mike's grin widened. "What about you, hotshot? You taking any classes this semester?"

"One," he nodded, a little embarrassed. It was all he could afford after getting his ass handed to him in November.

"Which one?"

"Social Movements in the U.S.," he said. It satisfied lower division history requirements, and some of the people in his philosophy class said it was a good class.

Mike nodded. "That's a fucking awesome class," he agreed. "I took that my sophomore year. You'll have a lot of projects for the decades, you know…Roaring 20's, Leftist 30's, that sort of thing. Really cool documentaries, too. Just sort of a build-your-own-class sort of thing."

"Right on," Priestly said as Jude pocketed her phone.

"Am I going to see you on the mats?" Mike asked him.

"Yeah," Priestly nodded as Jude stood and stretched.

"I don't think we're getting a table tonight," she announced.

Mike glanced at her. "You want to try Julio's on 5th?"

"No," she shook her head. "I think we're going to take off," she said, turning to Priestly. "I'm going to say goodbye to Patrick and Kelly."

He nodded, rising, as Jude wiggled out onto the dance floor to interrupt Kelly and Patrick. Mike looked at him, tipping his beer bottle. "What's her deal?" he asked Priestly. "She's about as fun tonight as a bucket of rags."

He rolled his eyes and lifted his hands to his shoulders. She _did_ seem distracted. She normally would be out on the floor gyrating along with everyone else, and she'd usually drag him out there with her, whether or not he was in the mood.

"Well, anyway, man, I'll see you on campus," Mike called, setting his beer back down as a faster song started and his date tugged him back out on the dance floor.

When Jude returned, she gave him a look and said, "You want to get some tacos?"

Tacos were for her like Mac and cheese was for some people. Comfort food. He tried not to smile. These were all very good signs. Her moodiness. Her need for comfort food. She didn't want to leave. He didn't want her to go. Maybe this time she'd just admit it: they were a couple, whether she wanted it or not. Or, maybe, like always, he'd end up watching her go, feeling like the same idiot on a different day.

In the end, it was a mixture of both. As they sat side by side on his futon, crunching on takeout tacos from Baja Bob's while the TV droned in the background, Jude said,

"I hate going to school." She didn't look at him, she just kept munching. "I get seriously bummed out. I hope I didn't ruin your night."

He wanted to say something, to tell her the night didn't have to be ruined. Priestly couldn't do it again, though. He couldn't open his mouth and ask her again. Fool me once, or some shit like that. It might have been the wrong thing, not taking that dive. Maybe she was waiting for him to bring it up again. Maybe she would have relented, given in to what he suspected they both knew.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, having to leave on a flight the next morning, she'd shown up at his door at just before midnight. They'd already said their goodbyes. He was careful to stay neutral that time, careful not to bring it up at all. He'd seen no point in it. Why put your neck out there for someone to slice your jugular? He'd been a little pissed off to see her on his doorstep, actually, because it just tore at the already painful wound.

Turned out she'd come to say a whole other kind of goodbye. That actually proved pretty awkward and almost embarrassing, seeing as how his ribs still hurt. In the end, she'd done most of the work. Her actions spoke louder than her words, but he'd been too afraid to ask for any words for fear she'd put him right back behind her stupid lines. So, instead he'd stepped there willingly for her and watched her go.

Priestly didn't want to just watch it all play out again, but he'd also made up his mind to just enjoy Jude's company while he had it and leave it at that. Given the way Jude said goodbye, he figured his refusal to challenge her on those fucking lines of hers either made him a giant asshole or just an opportunistic bastard, he wasn't sure which.

She said goodbye to him three times that night and left while he was half asleep and couldn't have moved if there were masked gunmen at the foot of the bed. All he could do was lie there feeling like he'd been had again and that it was his own fucking fault.

* * *

_February 8, 2004_

"Today's topic of the day," Priestly all but snarled, storming into the grill, "is why does everyone assume the guy with the Mohawk is guilty?"

"Guilty of being late?" Jen asked with a teasing grin.

Priestly threw up his hands, standing in the middle of the dining room, and continued, "Well, people, let me tell you why I'm late!"

Lucille watched with interest from her favorite booth while Mr. Julius folded his hands in front of himself, at full attention. Faces he didn't recognize watched him with amused curiosity. "I'm late because the 7-Eleven on 3rd got robbed. Apparently, the best description the idiot clerks could come up with was it was a white guy in dark clothing. So, of course, I'm just coming around the corner from the bus stop on Glenrosa when a squad car starts trailing behind me and the cop says, 'Can I talk to you for a second?'" He rolled his eyes in disgust, still angry about being singled out and stared at by all the passersby. "Good thing two people came along that had been on the bus with me, or I'd probably be calling in late from jail!"

"The police in this town are ridiculous," Lucille agreed. "My cousin's car got stolen and there was glass on the ground and they even left a pry bar behind, and the police wouldn't come out to get it for evidence. They just told her they'd make the report over the phone."

Priestly washed up while the patrons continued talking. When he took his place at the cold station, Joe looked him up and down with a condescending look and shrugged,

"Well, you look like you look, you're gonna have trouble."

"Oh," Priestly nodded, folding his arms across his chest, "so by _that _definition, what you're saying is a woman walking down the street in a short skirt deserves to get raped."

Joe held up his hands, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"Sure you did," Priestly argued. He saw several female customers were waiting to see how Joe would respond.

"That's not the same thing!" Joe snapped.

"It's exactly the same thing," Priestly shot back. "You're saying people look at me and assume I'm some kind of criminal and therefore it's okay for the cops to treat me like one. That's like saying people see a scantily dressed woman and assume she's easy and therefore it's okay for someone to take advantage of her."

"Nah, that ain't the same," Joe shook his head. "You're freaking crazy, Priestly. Don't put words in my mouth."

"I don't have to. You're speaking volumes all on your own. All I'm saying is it's totally unfair to just look at someone and assume you know exactly what they're about."

"We know what you're about, Priestly!" Lucille called.

He grinned at her and gave her a thumbs up. "Thank you! That's all I'm saying."

"Yeah, well, all _I'm _saying is if you dress like a weirdo people are going to assume you're a weirdo." Joe shrugged.

"But why?" Priestly pressed. "Why jump to that?"

"Maybe it's because of Darwin," Mr. Julius theorized. "Maybe it's the survival of the fittest. People judge the most suitable mates on physical attributes. Maybe we're just born to judge other people by what we see rather than by other virtues."

Priestly tied his apron and leaned on the front counter on his elbows. "Alright, Mr. Julius, but then why is it always the good looking, clean cut, soft spoken guy next door type that ends up being the serial killer? Seriously, when's the last time you saw a guy like me on the news?"

"He's got a point, Mr. Julius," Trucker smirked up from under his long bangs as he sat at the register flipping through a food service industry catalog.

"I mean, shit, if I wanted to knock over a bank or something, I sure as hell wouldn't do it like this," Priestly raised his arms and looked down at himself. "I'd go in wearing something like Everyman Joe over here is wearing." It was a cheap shot, but he went ahead and took it. Joe, in his khakis, white undershirt and flannel shirt, gave Priestly a narrow look.

Things at the grill remained slow, fitting more with Trucker's earlier predictions now that there were no fires to send half a square mile's worth of people into the shop. Trucker chose that moment to tell Joe he could call it a day if he wanted. Sally was off.

Even with just him and Jen and Trucker, they were still not terribly busy. When his phone rang, he fished it out of his pocket and flipped it open, glancing at the display.

"Hello?"

"Priestly?"

He pulled the phone away from his face to glance again at the number. "Mom?"

"Yes, Priestly, it's me."

She didn't usually call him when he was working. She usually called too early in the morning, forgetting the time difference. He looked at Trucker and pointed at the back room. Trucker looked out at the dining room to make sure there was no line waiting to form and nodded.

"Mom, what's going on? Why are you calling me?"

"I wanted you to know I'm at your Aunt Glenda's and to give you her number in case you need to reach me."

She sounded funny. He was used to her being sort of hesitant, always afraid she'd say the wrong thing and he'd hang up on her which, he was sort of ashamed to admit, he'd done a lot at first. But she sounded odd in a way he couldn't figure out.

"Is Aunt Glenda okay?" he asked.

"She's doing fine, Priestly. I'm here because…"

Silence.

"Mom? Did I lose you?" he asked into the phone.

"No," she replied quietly. "I'm here because I've left your father, Priestly."

Whoa. On the other end, she waited. He had a feeling she was waiting for it to sink in. She left? _Left?_ He leaned against the deep freeze wondering what to say, his head racing with a million questions, a million ideas.

"Priestly?" It was her turn to wonder if he was there.

"What happened?" he asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

"I did something I'm ashamed of," she said softly. His eyes went round in horror as he thought of what she might be about to confess. "I was in the office, dusting, and I knocked over a glass of tea he'd forgotten about." Priestly thought of his father's home office. Sounded about right. She was always sending him in there to gather the cups, plates, and dishes he left scattered on his desk. "I wanted to rescue the papers and folders and things, so I scooped a bunch of it up and shook it off over the sink. I saw something I know I had no business seeing, but once I saw it I couldn't just let it go."

He stood frozen against the cool door and wondered if he was growing cold because of it or because of the story that was unfolding. "What? What did you see?" he asked, the phone sliding a little in his sweaty hand.

"Letters between your father and the church council," she said, her voice catching. "Letters discussing accusations made about Dale Bennett. The oldest one went back ten years."

He closed his eyes, dropping his head. "Fuck," he said, unable to censor himself. If his mother noticed, she said nothing.

"I wanted to give you the address and phone number over here," she said.

He grabbed a brand new order pad from a shelf next to the deep freeze and searched out a pen. "Go ahead." He wrote down the information and tucked it into his pocket to enter into his phone later. "Got it," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

"No, Priestly," she said wearily. "No, I'm not."

He closed his eyes again, holding the phone against the center of his forehead for a minute as he tamped down the dark anger that rose within him. "That sucks, Mom."

She didn't answer him for a long time. When she did, her words surprised him. "I'm sorry, Priestly."

He didn't ask what for. He understood. "Thanks," he said, because he couldn't tell her it was okay.

"Priestly…" she began softly but then stopped short, not finishing.

"What?"

"Priestly, honey…" she faltered again. "Priestly, did Dale ever…?" She apparently couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"No," he assured her softly. "No, he didn't."

"So the towels…they weren't…"

He suddenly realized what she meant. "No, Mom. That was from my face. He really did beat the shit out of me."

She sighed wearily. "I heard something about Troy Bennett being arrested, Priestly."

"Yep," he agreed flatly.

"Oh, Priestly," she said, her voice catching again. "Are you alright?"

"I am now," he said truthfully. He moved to the door to check on things out front, realizing he'd been gone longer than he'd intended. Trucker glanced over at him from the cold station. Priestly supposed Trucker must have seen something in his expression because he made a 'nah, it's ok,' gesture with his hand. Turning his full attention back to the phone, Priestly felt a weight sink down on his chest. Oh, God, she was crying. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Listen, I really should go now. It's late, and I don't want to disturb Glenda or the girls." His cousins.

"Mom…" he tried, not knowing what to say. Finally, at a loss, he choked out, "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too, Priestly. I love you."

"I love you, too," he said quietly.

He wanted to break something. Kick something. Smash something. Destroy. But not here. Not Trucker's place. Instead, he stood in the middle of the back room holding the phone limply at his side until Trucker came to stand questioningly in the doorway.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Priestly looked at him blankly and said, "When has anything ever been okay?"


	29. Land of Confusion

**_You know the disclaimer. I don't own TIH or its original characters, plot lines, devices, yada yada. But my stuff is mine._**

* * *

_March 17__th__, 2004_

Mike took one look at his shirt, which featured the Lucky Charms dude, and laughed. "Magically delicious?" He lifted his eyebrows at the slogan.

Priestly shrugged one shoulder as their waitress brought him his second beer. She looked him up and down with a sexy smile and winked at him, tucking the two dollar tip he gave her on the three dollar beer into her cleavage. "I'll bet," she said, eyeing his shirt before moving on to the next table. Mike laughed and punched his shoulder.

"Oh, she likes you," he teased. "She's been making some serious eyes at you all night. You gonna go for it?"

He just tipped his beer and took a few swallows before rising to watch Patrick and Kelly at the pool table. Mike seemed to realize the move contained his reply and sighed.

"Look, man, Jude's one of my best friends, but you gotta know…she's not a safe bet."

Priestly just looked at him, saying nothing. He looked back at the shot Patrick was trying to line up.

"Priestly," Mike tried again, "Seriously. She'll tear your fucking heart out. She won't mean to do it," he added hastily, "it's just how she is." After a few seconds, he shook his head. "I should know."

Priestly's eyes shot to Mike's face.

Mike held up his hands, clearly unnerved by whatever he saw in Priestly's expression. "A long, long time ago. I assure you, there's nothing left at all except just friendship. No benefits. No desire for benefits."

Priestly's jaw tightened at his words. Sounded like she'd had a similar relationship with Mike, once upon a time. He wasn't stupid enough to try to hold her past against her. He had one, too. But he didn't like what he was hearing, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear any more.

Mike sighed. "Okay," he said. "So, Jude and I dated a million years ago…her freshman year of high school. I was a freshman in college. We made it for three months before _I_ called it quits."

Priestly said nothing. He didn't want to hear the story, didn't want to hear that Mike had a history with his…what? Clearly, she wasn't his girlfriend. At least not by her definition. Patrick and Kelly, oblivious to their conversation, finished up their game and handed their cues to them. Mike racked up the balls while Priestly chalked his cue. As if it would help. He rolled his eyes at himself.

He didn't want to know, but he found himself saying, "Okay, I'll bite. What happened?"

Mike shrugged. "When it looked like things were going to get serious, she just started doing what she does. She picked fights. She flirted with other guys. And I'm not talking just a little. She was really obnoxious about it."

He asked the question he really didn't want to. "She cheat on you?"

"I don't think she went that far," he shook his head. "She didn't need to. She went out of her way to push me away. So I let her." He shrugged, watching Priestly break. He chuckled when absolutely nothing went in. He chose his shot and leaned down. "Hell, maybe I wasn't really as into her as I initially thought. I could've tried harder, if you know what I mean. I think I just knew all along we were better friends. Still doesn't do any great wonders for a guy's ego, getting punked like that."

When Priestly glowered at him, Mike held up his hands again.

"Hey, maybe not. Everybody can change." He lined up his shot, took it, and looked back up at Priestly. "Dude, we're friends, right?" Priestly nodded slowly, wondering where he was going with it. "Ok, then. I don't like to see my friends getting themselves into bad situations…even if those bad situations involve other friends. My point is it's possible that if you took school out of the equation, she'd just be here pulling the same shit with you that she did on me. I'm thinking the distance bullshit she's giving you is just an excuse. If she was here full time, you might start seeing her pull out the same tricks. Jude is an awesome girl with a huge, huge heart, okay? But she's been fucked with by her parents so many times, used in the head games that they play with each other, she thinks that shit is just how life is. I don't think it's possible to do the 2.2 kids, white picket fence thing with her, if you were thinking you ever want to go there. Probably not a good idea to get in too deep with her. That's all I'm trying to say."

Priestly watched him sink two balls before missing. He surveyed the table glumly, annoyed that Mike had to go and bring it up in the first place. Especially since Jude skipped coming home during her spring break, opting instead to party in Miami with girlfriends. He tried not to think about whether she followed any of the famous traditions. Since she stubbornly insisted they were just fuck buddies, he kept his distance and a don't ask, don't tell attitude.

Priestly took his shot, surprised when the ball went into the pocket. Grinning in spite of himself, he just cocked his head as Mike lifted an eyebrow at the table. Jude's classes would end April 30th, and exams would be over by May 15th. She'd emailed him that she'd be home for the summer on May 16th. He wondered if they'd do the same stupid dance until she left again at the end of August. He'd already known her for a year. When she left for school again, they would mark the one year anniversary of Priestly being a complete fucking moron, continuing to allow Jude into his life, into his bed after that first rotten goodbye.

Mike's words swirled in his head like birds of prey circling carrion. He didn't want to believe what Mike said…that if Jude were in Santa Cruz for good, free to commit, she would find other reasons not to. It was always possible that Mike did, in fact, still have feelings for her and was merely trying to scare him off, but Priestly didn't get that vibe from him.

Priestly took another shot, unsurprised when he missed. The sinker was just a one off, he knew. He laughed when Mike got overzealous and sent the cue ball right off the table, and Patrick had to go scrambling after it. But he spent the rest of the night mulling over what Mike said about Jude.

* * *

_April 6__th__, 2004_

Priestly turned to deliver a couple of plated subs to the front counter. Sally, coming to get them, stopped for a second and leaned against the other side of the counter, rubbing her head.

"You okay, Sal?" he asked, frowning. It wasn't like Sally to slow down. She looked up at him, still rubbing the center of her forehead.

"Yeah," she waved off his concern. "I just have this headache that won't quit. It happens sometimes." As if to prove it was a mere annoyance, she scooped up the plates and the drinks Jen brought over and went right back to her usual pace.

A half hour later, however, Priestly turned from the cold station to see her stop short in the middle of the floor, close her eyes, and take a deep breath. When she returned to the counter he gave her a long look and asked, "Are you sure you're okay, Sal?"

She smiled, looking sleepy for the first time since he'd known her. She reached over the counter to touch his cheek in that motherly way of hers. "Sweetie, I'm fine. Really. I'm just an old girl and starting to act like one, I guess."

"You?" he scoffed, giving her a playful sneer. "Forty's not old, Sal."

She laughed. "Oh, I wish, kiddo," she replied, exchanging the empties on her tray for the fresh plates he had ready for her. Priestly stacked the dirties and moved them to the sink for the post-closing wash.

He watched her for the last half hour of her shift, thinking if he saw any other un-Sallylike behavior, he'd tell Trucker. Trucker could push on her about it. Priestly knew she wouldn't be able to make light of it if Trucker started watching her, too, and discovered he was right. He'd put on his Uncle Trucker hat and nag at her in his mellow way. It seemed impossible for someone mellow to nag, but Trucker had a subtle way of it that made you end up doing whatever he intended for you to do. Priestly had lived with the guy long enough to have learned that much. Moving out hadn't really freed him from it, in fact. Trucker just got sneakier and more creative at it. Priestly smirked as he realized he would miss it if Trucker stopped doing it.

* * *

_April 18, 2004_

_Priestly,_

_Just saw a guy wearing a shirt that said, "_My, those boobs look heavy. Can I hold them for you?_" and thought of you. Can't wait to hit Joop's for some ice cream. Want to be my partner in crime?_

_Jude_

_PS: That photo of you wearing the 20's gangster garb was smokin' hot! Do you still have the fedora? How'd you do on your Social Movements final report?_

* * *

_April 21, 2004 _

Priestly grinned at the logo she mentioned. Nice. He could hear Trucker in the kitchen and felt a little guilty. He should be helping him set up the Wednesday night barbecue or at the very least finishing up his homework like he said he was going to do, but he figured a quick check of his email wouldn't hurt. Or a quick reply.

_Jude,_

_I'm in. I love me some butter rum ice cream! I'm sort of pissed about the final report. All that work and I only got a B! But I tested out of the final, so it's all good. And no, the gangster stuff was rented. Sorry._

_P._

* * *

_May 4, 2004_

_P,_

_Cramming like crazy, but counting the days until I can surf again._

_California, here I come!_

_Jude_

* * *

_May 5, 2004_

_Jude,_

_So this freaking idiot comes into the shop today and goes apeshit ballistic on Jen for getting his order wrong. Or so he says. Actually, it was me. I forgot to hold the onions. We get assholes sometimes, sure, but this guy was completely off the rails. So I turn around and say to the guy, _

"_Hey, man, _I_ fucked up your order. I'm sorry about that. But if you don't apologize to her right fucking now with absolute sincerity, you can just turn around and walk right back out the door because hell will freeze the fuck over before you'll get served here again."_

_For a second I thought Trucker was going to ream me out or something because he came up behind me and stood there while all this was going on. The guy goes all red in the face and starts screaming, but this time at least he starts screaming at me and leaves Jen alone. So I turn around and start making him the correct order, figuring that's what Trucker's going to tell me to do. Trucker just stands there and lets him yell. Luckily we've just got a few of the regulars in the shop watching the show, or it could have been worse. So I finish the sandwich and put it on the counter, and Trucker picks it up and hands it to the guy and says,_

"_Man, I'm sorry about that. Here's your sandwich, no onions. It's really hard to find good help these days." My jaw drops, so it's good I'm facing the grill._

_So the guy comes down a few decibels and says, "So, are you going to fire that asshole or what?"_

"_I might have to," Trucker says, "if he doesn't learn the correct time to show assholes like you the door. In my book, that was about when you walked in here and started yelling. But I figure I'll give the guy another chance because he got the second part right. That's your last sandwich. Enjoy it."_

_Man! I fucking love Trucker!_

_Thought you'd like the story._

_P._

* * *

_May 10, 2004_

Loved _the story! I can't believe the guy wanted you fired for sticking up for Jen. Trucker's a good guy. Any one of my bosses _would _have fired me in a heartbeat!_

_I can't wait to come home! Sun, fun, surf, Joop's...and you._

_Jude_

* * *

_May 12, 2004_

Priestly read her words and wondered what he was supposed to make of that. He wanted to see her about as much as he wanted to take his next breath, but when she went and said shit like that, she made it impossible for him to stay behind the lines she drew. He didn't know how much more he could take.

He sat there after hitting "reply", staring at the blank screen under the header. After trying to decide what to do, he finally just closed Trucker's laptop with a sigh and wandered out to the deck to see if he needed help with the barbecue.

* * *

_May 15, 2004_

"Trucker, there's something wrong with Sally," Priestly said, wiping down the booth in front of Trucker's.

He'd waited anxiously for Sally to leave that day so he could tell Trucker about the headaches she claimed to have and the way she'd stop short mid-stride and just breathe for a few seconds before continuing on like nothing happened. And now, this afternoon, she'd picked up a tray, stopped, and set it right back down again for a minute before trying again.

Trucker pulled his glasses off and looked at him, so Priestly said those things out loud. When he finished, Trucker nodded, sighing.

"You've noticed that, too, huh?"

"Can't you, I don't know," he shrugged, "make her go to a doctor or something? Or get Scooter to do it?"

Trucker thought about it for a few minutes before putting his glasses back on. "I'll take care of it," he agreed, bending his head back over the food order.

"Hey," Priestly added, "We need mayonnaise."

He waited until Trucker ticked it off with his pencil before moving to clean the next table.

* * *

_May 16, 2004_

When his phone rang, Priestly very nearly answered it with something suggestive. In spite of himself and in spite of everything he knew and everything Mike told him about Jude, he was looking forward to her arrival later that day. Her flight schedule had already changed twice, once because she got bumped, and then again because the "we promise to get you on the next flight" flight she was supposed to be on was delayed.

Even though he was enjoying his first two day weekend from the grill for a while, he was also crazy beside himself with anticipation. Of course, first she'd have to land, and then she'd have to spend some obligatory time with her mother. But she thought she might be able to get away in the evening.

Luckily, however, he glanced at the area code of the phone number. Latimer. He picked up the phone with a bland, "Hello?"

"Is this Priestly?" a woman's voice asked.

He didn't recognize the voice, but she had the name right. Most people, insisted on calling him Boaz, so he figured she must be someone he must know somehow. "Yeah?"

"Priestly, I don't know if you remember me or not. This is Jane Miranda, Holly's mom?"

Every muscle in his body turned to cement. "Okay," he said helplessly, wondering what the fuck she was going to hit him with now. He'd already been up to his ears in crap over the Troy Bennett thing, getting paperwork about the court hearing and getting deposed locally again, this time about getting his ass handed to him. Trucker probably thought he had a second career as a witness advocate, carting him to conference rooms. Priestly had been shocked at the copies he'd been given of the hospital's photos, though. Even living it, he hadn't realized he'd looked that bad. Fucking humiliating, too, to have to admit you got your ass thoroughly kicked.

"I'm sure this is the last thing you want to hear or think about, but I know your mother told you she found some letters that indicate that the church knew about Dale Bennett's actions long before what happened with Holly." Her words sounded almost rehearsed, like she'd been trying to say the words calmly, with as little emotion as possible.

"Yeah," he said again, trying to relax. He was strung so tight he thought he'd pull something.

"So far, eight victims have stepped forward, which is a lot when you consider what a small town Latimer is. There was a story in the paper once your mother went to the police, and–″

"Whoa! What?" he asked, looking in disbelief at the phone before pulling it back to his face.

"Your mother went to the police when she found the letters," Mrs. Miranda explained. "Oh, I'm so proud of her. It must have taken so much for her to have to do that knowing she'd be bringing such a scandal down on her own husband," her voice went husky with emotion.

Priestly felt like he'd been kicked in the chest. She hadn't said a word about it. Why hadn't she said anything? Just leaving him was amazing enough in Priestly's eyes. Holy fucking shit.

"Priestly?"

He shook himself. "Yeah, sorry. I'm here…"

"Priestly, I'm sorry to even ask you this, but would you consider testifying again about what you saw?"

"Can't you just use the deposition I gave to the lawyers earlier?"

"No, Priestly. That's a criminal proceeding. This is for civil action against the church, not Dale Bennett. This is its own separate case, completely independent of anything that you did before." Jane paused. "I'll understand if you just can't do it…I mean, I realize what we're asking you to do. We're putting you in a terrible position because it affects your father directly as the local representative of the church."

Priestly closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead where it suddenly felt like a little man with a hammer was beating the inside of his skull. He must have taken too long to respond. Jane's voice was soft and sorrowful when she said,

"It's okay, Priestly. Thank you for hearing me out."

"Can I have a few days to think about it?" he asked. For one thing, he really needed to talk to his mother. For another, he just wasn't sure how much more of the whole mess he could take.

"Of course," she said. "Can I give you my number?"

He took it down and promised he'd call her back either way, whatever his decision. And then he disconnected the call and flopped backward on his bed.

"Really?" he asked his empty room, rubbing his forehead again. Was he ever going to be done with the nightmare Dale Bennett created? Was he ever going to be able to put this shit in the past and have it stay there? Was he ever not going to be confused about what to do about Jude or his father or his mother or this civil thing or what he wanted to do with his life or who he was or wanted to be?

Priestly might have been enormously relieved at the fact that his ability to escape life using sleep had returned…if he'd been awake to notice.


	30. Here is Gone

**_Disclaimer: C'mon, you know the words by now. TIH= not mine. OCs, other non canon= mine._**

* * *

_May 16__th__, 2004_

"Oh, yeah," Jude sighed, her head dipping back, her mouth working. "Mmmmm," she moaned.

Priestly's eyebrows lifted. "Careful," he said, pulling a soft lump of butter rum ice cream into his mouth, "you keep making noises like that, we might get hauled in for public indecency."

Jude just grinned evilly at him and took another lick of her brownie ice cream. "Joop's," she moaned, "I have missed you!"

He just shook his head and smiled around his cone.

Later, when they were sweaty and naked in his bed, he heard another of her whispers at his ear.

_"I missed you, too." _

As always, he didn't let on that he'd heard her. And as always, his heart gave a little twist in his chest. He drifted off wondering why it was so impossible for her to say those things when she didn't think he was asleep.

* * *

_May 19th, 2004_

Priestly listened to his voicemail as he knocked and then just opened Trucker's front door without waiting for his answer.

_"Priestly? This is Jane Miranda. I won't call again, I just wanted to see if you've thought any more about testifying. I don't mean to rush you. I just, we saw the attorney today, and he asked me about it. Well, anyway, thank you for your time." _Jane rattled off her number and hung up.

He sighed. God, why was it so hard for him to decide? The choice seemed simple: stand up for Holly and all the other kids who'd essentially been victimized twice (once by Bennett and then again by a church leader who, in conjunction with the church board, turned a blind eye) or take a pass, which did nothing for anyone except for a man who by all accounts, didn't deserve any favors. His father had never done him any favors. In fact, it mostly felt like his father went out of his way to frown upon, deny, disapprove, and smack around his only child, his son.

Priestly had only two really good memories of his father. One was when one of the church elders praised his piano solo at the church Christmas pageant when he was eleven. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it and said, "Yes, I'm very proud of his progress with piano this year." The other was a father and son camping trip with the scouts when he was eight. He hadn't wanted to join scouts in the first place. His father had been a scout and made him join. But that camping trip had made him almost understand why his father wanted him to do it, too. His father had, for one brief weekend, taken off his preacher clothes and had just been…fun. He'd sang a funny old song Priestly couldn't remember about boogers and bugs, he'd taught Priestly how to properly roast a hot dog over a camp fire and then later, a marshmallow for s'mores. And he'd told the best ghost story out of all the other dads. When Priestly had gotten tired on a hike, his father had scooped him up and let him ride on his shoulders the rest of the way back to camp.

Two really good memories in twenty years. Most of the rest weren't horrific, just…nothing to write home about. His father was almost always working, almost always at the church. And when he was home, what little time and focus he gave to Priestly was spent correcting him, chiding him, rebuking him, or flat out yelling at him and smacking him around.

Priestly dialed Jane's number to tell her he'd testify.

Just as he was closing his phone, Trucker poked his head out of the kitchen.

"Hey, can you go check the barbecue? I'm up to my elbows in here…"

Priestly nodded. Trucker continued to call to him from the kitchen, though, as he headed out to the deck, so he turned backward as he continued walking down the hall. "What? I can't hear you!" he said over the whine of the meat grinder. Trucker was making some sort of special hamburger he'd seen on a cooking show a few weeks ago when he'd come down with a cold and the most he felt like doing was riding the sofa with a box of Kleenex. Some sort of hybrid mix of Angus beef, sirloin steak, and veal.

"Never mind…just go check the grill!"

He reached behind himself for the sliding door, shaking his head as he turned back around.

"Surprise!"

Priestly broke into a wide grin. Sally, Scooter, Jen, Davis, Chuck, Rawley, Mike, Patrick, Kelly, and Jude stood grinning back at him on the deck. He couldn't help but glance at Mike for a brief second before Jude gave him a long, hard kiss. When she pulled back she said,

"You didn't really think I'd miss your birthday, did you?"

He gave her a sheepish smile. She'd said she had to work. Work was work. He got that. It wasn't like they couldn't celebrate later, over the weekend. He lifted one shoulder. Davis was already manning the grill for Trucker. He nodded at Priestly.

"Happy birthday, kid! You 21 yet?"

Priestly nodded. "I'm legal!" He grinned.

"That's good," Davis said, lifting a six pack of Dos Equis. "Guess I won't be contributing to the delinquency of a minor with these." He smirked.

He laughed. "I'll take those," he replied quickly, stopping to hug Sally hello on the way. Sally cupped his face in her hands and said,

"Bring it down, I can't reach." He obligingly bent to her, and she gave him a loud smack on his forehead. "Happy birthday, Priestly," she said, hugging him now. He rocked her a little, teasingly, and said,

"We going to Macarena again tonight?"

"I don't know," she giggled. "I don't think this band is going to play that sort of thing."

"Probably not," he agreed, as he heard the strains of an Alice in Chains song playing. "Hey, did you find anything out from the doctor?" he asked softly, not wanting the whole party to hear.

She nodded and cupped his cheek fondly. "Just a little drug interaction. The new blood pressure medication he put me on wasn't playing nice with one of my other medications, so we're trying a different one. I should be feeling right as rain again as soon as I get a few days with this new one under my belt."

He smiled. "Awesome. You know it's just because we love you, right?" he whispered as he reached behind her for the beer Mike offered him.

"Yes, I do," she whispered back and kissed his cheek.

"Hey, man" Mike said as he straightened back up, "I saw this at Lulu's House of Crazy and thought of you." He handed Priestly a messily wrapped item. "Even wrapped it myself. In honor of your buddy Troy's jail sentence," he added.

Priestly cocked an eyebrow at him. Everyone knew about it, it wasn't that. He just wondered what on earth was going through Mike's head in giving him a gift in honor of a beat down. When he saw it, though, even he couldn't help but laugh. He held the shirt up to his chest so everyone could read it: _Paddle faster. I hear banjos. _Two stick figures sat in a canoe with little waves around it. The others chuckled appreciatively, too.

"How long did he get?" Chuck asked, sipping a Corona.

"Eighteen months, aggravated assault," Priestly answered. Thankfully, Jen changed the subject by putting a little unwrapped box in his hand. "Jen," he said, one corner of his mouth lifting to match her half-smile. He lifted the lid and found a lip ball stud inside. Underneath that, a gift card for one of the piercing places at the mall. She shrugged.

"You've been talking about getting your lip pierced all year."

"Nice," he nodded. "Thanks." He gave Jen a hug. When he was sitting again, Jude wrapped her arms around him from behind and whispered very close to his ear,

"I've got something for you later."

Trucker arrived then with the meat, and he saw they'd already started on the gifts. He handed Priestly something across the table and said, "Another thing you've been talking about for a while."

Priestly grinned as he looked down at the Surf City Tattoo business card in his hand, flipping it over. "Nice!" he said, nodding.

"What is it?" Jen asked.

He held up the card so she could see only the front. "Trucker's financing part of my next tattoo," he grinned.

Jen looked up at Trucker and teased, "Don't encourage him!"

Trucker just gave her an indulgent smile then looked across at Priestly again. "Just remember…permanent."

"What?" Priestly said innocently. "You have some, too. I've seen you getting out of your wet suit."

Trucker nodded. "And they're nothing I regret."

Rawley piped up then. "What he's saying without saying is 'no names, unless it's Mom or your kid's and always in a place you can cover up."

Priestly shook his head. "What's the fun in that? I mean, the names thing, that makes sense. But a tattoos is meant to be out there for the world to see. It's art. Plus, if it's something really weird, people will ask you about it. Great conversation starter."

"You don't strike me as someone who needs any help starting a conversation," Davis chimed in, flipping the meat on the grill. The others laughed in agreement.

He rolled his eyes and popped open one of the Dos Equis bottles, holding up the six pack. "Anybody?" No takers. He put the pack back under his chair.

"How do you want your burger?" Davis asked him.

"It's probably ready," Priestly said.

Jude grimaced. "He likes them medium rare."

Davis tossed a bun face down on the far corner of the grill and put one of the patties on top of another one to keep it from cooking further.

Seriously, the best burger he'd ever had. No more making fun of Trucker's sick time spent watching cooking shows. Priestly had two, which was good because everyone loved them and there were no leftovers for another day.

Sally and Scooter resumed the gift giving with Sally's contribution of several pies for dessert. Scooter handed him a gift wrapped in another t-shirt: _This is the earliest I've ever been late! _

Priestly laughed. "Oh, Sally had a hand in that one, right?" Scooter nodded. "Whoa," he said, revealing the intricately carved, heavily lacquered box. "You did this?" he asked.

Scooter shrugged. "It's a hobby. Most of the guys seem to use them for a valet…watch, wallet, cell phone, keys."

Priestly nodded. "Yeah, man," he said, running his hand over the crazy sort of Celtic looking design. "Awesome. Seriously, Scooter, really cool."

"Thanks," Scooter said, dipping his head.

"No, man," he argued, "thank you." Priestly looked up at his friends. "Thanks, everyone." He stared down at the box again, adding Jen's and Trucker's gifts to it as an excuse to hide his eyes from them just long enough for the threat of anything even close to tears to subside. He thought about the last year and a half and realized just how lucky he was, starting with Trucker but ending with everything else that brought him to Trucker's back deck and the people around him.

Sally and Trucker appeared on the deck with three pies, and Priestly's only problem was figuring out how he was going to fit a little of each on top of the world's best burgers and potato salad.

"Love me some pie!" he called loudly, pumping his fist in the air. Sally giggled at that and handed him a plate with three small slices, the center one with a candle in it. "You're not going to sing, are you?" he winced and rolled his eyes as they started up with the birthday song.

All too soon, it seemed, people said their goodbyes, exchanged slaps on the back, handshakes, or hugs and wandered off. Priestly tried to help Trucker clean up the rest of the mess, but Trucker just put his hands on Priestly's shoulders and said,

"Happy birthday, kid. Now get the hell out of here. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Priestly laughed. "Okay, Truck, have it your way."

"You need a bag or something to haul off all that loot?"

Priestly looked back at the patio table with the gifts. "Yeah, that might be good."

Trucker disappeared to the kitchen and came back with a Trader Joe's paper bag. In the bottom was a Tupperware container with the last few slices of pie. Priestly tucked the leftover beer, Scooter's box filled with Jen's and Trucker's gifts, and the two t-shirts on top of the container. Jude returned from the bathroom just as he was picking up the bag.

"Ready?"

He nodded. As he passed through the house on his way out the front door, he called out another goodbye to Trucker.

* * *

He barely made it into his apartment before Jude pulled a box out of her large purse. He grinned at her and sat down on the futon, but she shook her head.

"Go," she pointed to the bedroom.

"What's in the box?" he asked, grabbing the bag as he remembered he needed to refrigerate the pie. Jude followed him to the kitchen, watching as he put the pie and the leftover beer in the fridge. When he closed the door, she pointed to his room again.

"Go," she repeated. "Get comfortable."

Priestly went to his bedroom and took off his combat boots and then tossed his shorts in the hamper on the floor of the closet before sending his shirt in after it, leaving him in his boxers. He flopped down on the bed on his back and wondered what she had up her sleeve.

He didn't have to wait long. He'd closed his eyes at her command, but as he heard music fill the room, he opened them. "Holy…" was all he could find words for. Jude rolled her hips to the music, stationed at the foot of his bed in a black trench coat, fedora, and…fishnets. She'd applied bright red lipstick and smoky eyeliner. Joe Cocker's _You can Leave Your Hat On _wailed out in the background. He grinned at her and just watched as the song progressed and she followed the directives, first easing out of the trench, which she tossed on the floor, then out of her stilettos, which she sat on the dresser top, and then the little red dress, leaving her in good old fashioned garters, her thong, and her bra.

He sighed appreciatively as she released the clips on the garters so slowly he thought he'd die waiting, then rolled the fishnets down one leg at a time before crawling up to him from the foot of the bed. She wasn't kidding when she said she had something for him for later. He couldn't think of a sexier present. He could barely think at all as Joe's wailing faded and gave way to Tenacious D's _Let's Get it On_.

She captured his hands when he tried to touch her. She assaulted him with her mouth and then her hands as she forgot she was supposed to be restraining him. He reached for her again, but she found his earlobe and rasped,

"Don't make me tie you up…"

Delighted at the idea, he grabbed her again just to see if she'd do it. She looked at him with her smoky eyes and her smeared lipstick which made him twitch and slid off the bed, returning with one of the fishnets, which she used to bind his hands to the little wood rods that made up his Mission style headboard.

"Don't pull, or you might break your bed," she threatened, continuing her exploration of him.

"Fuck," he breathed as he realized she was right. He gave in and just hung on for the ride.

She soon had him dizzy and gasping. Watching her rise and fall over him, unable to reach for her, it was unbelievably frustrating but also the hottest thing he could never have imagined. When her head fell back on a long moan, he came undone.

* * *

_June 19, 2004_

"Hey, Jen," Priestly said from the cold station, "you're sort of quiet today. Drink too much last night?" He remembered her saying she was going out with friends.

She gave him her famous half-smile, only one corner of her mouth lifting as if it was too much effort to smile or she wasn't really happy in the first place. "It was a late night," she said. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"Are you sure? Because I'm getting more of a sad vibe from you," he answered, looking at her. She met his eyes for only a second before she shrugged and turned back to the beeping laptop.

"So, what?" Joe snorted from the grill, "You're psychic now? Leave her the fuck alone. She don't need your brand of wisdom."

Jen turned to look at Joe, surprised. Priestly turned quickly back to the cold station, irritated. He wanted to grab the guy and shove him face first onto the grill. Instead, he shook his head and just kept building the turkey sub Marty wanted.

"I guess I'm a little discouraged," Jen admitted, reaching past him for a takeout container and scooping potato salad into it. "It's not easy going to clubs with my friends. I end up sitting alone guarding the table while they get asked to dance."

Priestly looked at her. "So, dance."

"I feel stupid out there alone," she sighed, capping the salad.

"So call me," he offered. "If I'm not busy, I can come down and boogie with you. I like music. I like dancing."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure Jude would love that."

He shrugged one shoulder, wrapping the sandwich. Marty liked her order prepared to go, even though she sat in the dining room and ate it. That way if she couldn't finish it, she didn't have to wait for one of them to wander by to ask for a box. "Trust me," he muttered darkly, "she wouldn't give a shit."

He grabbed the salad from Jen and slid around the counter to deliver them before Jen could comment. He and Jude had never been closer…or more far apart. In every way possible she acted like they were dating, but she still refused to entertain any discussion. Every time he tried, she shut him down. First with sex, which worked for a while. Then with jokes. And now with sullen bouts of the silent treatment, which she'd now been giving him for five days.

"I'm taking off," he'd said to her last week at Moe's between sets. "You can stay for the last set if you want." She'd looked up at him but said nothing, having shut down after he'd cornered her on the dance floor during a ballad. He'd spoken loudly in her ear over the music about not being afraid, not letting her parents' fucked up relationship plot the course for their own.

"Priestly," she'd said sharply. Wearily. "We have sex. Incredible, delicious sex. We have fun. We don't have a relationship."

"Really? Because we sure act like it. When you're having a bad day who do you call first?" he asked. He didn't wait for her answer, because he already knew she called him first. "When you're having a good day or you want ice cream or for no reason at all, who do you call?"

"I call my best friend," she retorted. "I can call someone else if you want."

He narrowed his eyes at her. His answer was more flippant that he really meant it to be. "C'mon, Jude! Fuck! What more do I have to do to prove I'm not going anywhere? I'm still right here fucking waiting while you're at school, and I'll still _be_ right here fucking waiting, so I might as well know I have you to wait for." She looked at him with her tea colored eyes, and he felt a little guilty at the hurt in them, but more than that, he felt pissed off.

"Priestly," she sighed, "I take good care of you, don't I?"

"Take care of me?" He released her, stepping back in disbelief. "What? Like a fucking puppy? No! Jesus!" He turned and walked off the dance floor just as the band announced they were taking a quick break, passing their table and going right out the door whlie callling over his shoulder that he was taking off but she could stay for the last set.

"Priestly!" Jude called, following him at a jog as he stormed out to the bus stop. "Priestly!" she called again, this time more sharply.

He turned to glare at her, saying nothing.

"I just meant we already have a good thing going. Good sex. We talk. We're close. Right? So why do you insist on putting labels on it? What magical thing is that going to do?"

He lifted his arms to his sides, spreading them out and shaking his head. "I don't know. Okay? Maybe I'm the fucking girl in this…whatever we've got going. Maybe I'd just feel better knowing that _you're _in this for the long haul like I am instead of turning tail and running away to school or clamming up and ignoring me for a week whenever I ask you for a commitment. I get how much it scares you, okay? But sometimes the way to really tell someone how you feel is to do that thing that scares the fuck out of you."

"Like trusting that just because I go away to school without calling you my boyfriend first, that I'm not going to forget about you just because I'm 3,000 miles away?" she countered.

He blinked. What was she saying? It was the closest she'd ever come to admitting they were exclusive, even when she was at school.

"I'm at an all girl college, Priestly," she reminded him. "Yeah, there are men in town, but I'm usually studying too hard to notice. Okay? Good enough?"

He ran a hand over his face and considered it. "For now," he conceded.

"No," she shook her head. "Not for now. I'm telling you, Priestly," she warned, "I'm not going to keep having this conversation. So you'd better decide real soon what you can live with and what you can't." She grabbed him and kissed him in that way she had that made him almost forget his own name. "You think about it," she said, backing away from him. He watched her get into her car and take off before turning to board the finally bus of the night.

"Earth to Priestly," Jen was saying, waving her hand in front of his face as he stood rubbing his bar towel in circles over a table.

"Huh?" he asked, looking up to see Jen with a couple standing next to her, waiting for the table he'd been over cleaning for the last few minutes. He backed away like his pants were on fire, just in time to nearly run into Sally.

Sally startled, and she paled a little and paused, stopping short in the middle of the floor for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and continuing on her way.

"Sal," he said as she passed him, "are you okay? I thought you were on new meds."

She turned to smile at him. "I'm fine, Priestly. You worry too much."

He didn't know whether to press her on it or not. She did seem perfectly fine again, flitting around the restaurant like he was used to. But her color hadn't quite returned, and he noticed when she set the drinks down in front of Eddie and Diane, her hand shook.


	31. Get Thru This

_June 28, 2004_

"Fuck, that hurt," Priestly said with no small measure of surprise.

"Don't touch it," Jude said, smirking at him. When he ignored her, she grabbed his hands. "Do you want it to get infected and have to take it out and start all over again?"

Hell, no. He stopped trying to pull his hands out of hers, choosing instead to rub his tongue against the back of the labret post. Jude held a mirror up to him. He admired the little silver ball that Jen had gotten him for his birthday, the same one she'd teased him about just the other day. He assured her he hadn't forgotten about it, he just hadn't gotten around to it. When he'd mentioned that conversation to Jude, she'd said she'd go with him on his next day off.

"Are you sure you really want to get another tattoo now? Have you had enough pain for one day?" she asked, her eyes twinkling as she teased him.

Priestly had suggested they make it a day of body alteration, so they headed over to Surf City Tattoo. He hoped the same guy who did his previous tattoo was around because he was happy with the first tattoo.

"What are you thinking for this one?" Jude asked as he stared up at the various designs affixed under glass displays hung on the walls.

"I'm going Chinese," he said.

"Where?" she asked.

"I'm thinking right here," he said, running his finger along the inside of his left forearm.

"What do you want it to say?"

"I'll know it when I see it," he said absently, scanning the display that was all Chinese characters.

"Hey, man," Rex, the guy who'd given him his first tattoo, noticed him in the lobby and headed over.

Priestly glanced over at him. "Hi," he said.

"What are you interested in this time?" Rex asked, watching him as he surveyed the symbols in the case. "We have a guy on staff that's fluent…so we guarantee those are accurate. You won't get that a lot of places. People are always coming in here to cover up translation mistakes."

He chose the symbols for honor, strength, and loyalty. Priestly figured they would serve as a reminder of who he wanted to be, how he wanted to live. Jude kept him company again, telling him funny stories about her co-workers at the dog grooming place, which had hired her back for the summer again and about her fellow surf instructors. That was a freelance thing, based largely on word of mouth. She hadn't been able to get her bumper car job back, though, so she was doing surf school Thursdays through Sundays in the afternoon and grooming dogs Saturday and Sunday mornings.

"Hey," Jude said, suddenly switching from talk of the grooming shop, "I almost forgot. Mike's having a party at his place this weekend. You up for it?"

"Sure," Priestly nodded, trying not to flinch as the needle hit a ticklish spot. Ticklish was not what he expected after the pain of the nautical star, but he wanted to itch his forearm more than anything. This one didn't hurt at all. It itched like a bitch.

Before he knew it, he was looking at the fresh tattoo for a few moments before Rex covered it with a bandage.

"Alright, man, you're all set." Rex took the business card, which paid for a portion of the tattoo, and he said, "You're a friend of Trucker's?"

"Yeah," Priestly nodded.

"Man, small world!" Rex chuckled. "I did some touch ups for him. Good guy." Rex didn't even count the money Priestly handed him, which included a generous tip. He just tucked it in his pocket. "Nothing for you today, gorgeous?"

"Not today, Rex," Jude shook her head.

"Need any Tattoo Goo?" Rex asked him.

"Nah," he shook his head. "Still have some from the last time."

They wandered around the boardwalk for a while before returning to Priestly's apartment. Just as they were headed up the stairs to his place, he heard a bang coming from somewhere behind Leo's house. Giving Jude a cautious look, he pushed past her, pulling Leo's key off his detachable key ring before handing Jude the rest of the keys.

"Lock yourself in. If I'm not up there in five minutes, call the police."

She hesitated on the steps as another soft bang issued. He gave her a dangerous look. She must have recalled the way he looked at Thanksgiving, because she whirled around and climbed the rest of the stairs. Priestly swore softly to himself as he eased toward the back corner of Leo's house. He looked around for something to use as a weapon, which he already knew was an exercise in futility. He kept the yard clean, the tools and lawn equipment in the garage where they belonged.

Priestly stuck his head around the corner of the house. At the sight of a lanky form with a grey ponytail, he grinned. "Leo?"

He turned and returned Priestly's smile. "Hey, man. Good job on the place. Looks even better in person than in the pictures," he said, striding across the lawn toward Priestly.

"Hold that thought," Priestly said, jogging back around the corner of the house. "Jude?" When she opened the door and peeked out, he nodded up at her, "It's ok. It's just my landlord!"

"Hi," Leo called up to her. "She living here?"

"No, just visiting." he replied, watching her come down the stairs. "Trucker didn't tell me you were coming," he said.

Leo's eyes crinkled at the corners. "He doesn't know I'm here yet."

"Surprise landing?"

"Yeah. Only for a few days. Got a couple properties I'm looking at buying to use as income properties, and the only way to really get a feel for them is in person. So, here I am."

"Nice," he said. Jude reached out her hand at the break in the conversation.

"I'm Jude," she said as Leo took her hand.

"Leo," he nodded.

Priestly looked around. "Did you drive in?"

Leo dipped his head in agreement. "My truck's in the garage. Anybody want to sneak up on Trucker with me? I have it on good authority he's over at Steamer Lane."

Priestly nodded.

"You can't go in the water," Jude reminded him.

"So? I can watch you guys from the cliffs," he shrugged. "Fresh ink," he explained, holding up his bandaged arm for Leo.

"Ah. Want to ride in mine?" Leo asked, lifting the garage door.

"Can we swing by my house for my board?" Jude asked.

Leo grinned. "You surf?"

"I surf," she agreed.

"Yeah, okay."

As usual, the place was pretty crowded, but there were thunderheads in the distance that would probably make their way to shore in another couple hours, so the crowd wasn't nearly as bad as it could get. Priestly stayed up on the cliffs with the rest of the spectators, dutifully slathering himself with sunscreen after removing his shirt. Trucker was right about the sunscreen. He'd spent a couple hours with Jude at Main Beach once, and he'd been pretty red after just that short while.

"Need help with your back?" she asked, her hand full of the white goop. He nodded and turned, yelping when the cold cream hit his already hot skin, making her giggle.

"Be good," he told her as she headed out to the jump off. Leo, watching the surfers with a pair of binoculars, suddenly pointed.

"Hey, there he is!" Leo grinned down at Priestly. "He's going to ride the Indicators on in, I'll bet. Probably already been out here a while."

"Probably," Priestly agreed, looking out through the binoculars in the direction Leo indicated. Sure enough, Trucker was gliding effortlessly at Middle Peak, which was connecting beautifully to Indicators that day.

They lost track of him for a while. He appeared some time later almost out of nowhere. It didn't take Trucker long to find Priestly. Even from a distance you couldn't miss the green liberty spikes. When he saw Leo, though, the smile broke over his face like the waves at Middle Peak. "Leo?!" he called out in disbelief, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides.

"Kook!" Leo replied. Trucker nearly tackled the guy. A back slapping bear hug later, Trucker was laughing and shaking his head.

"You and Gorham, man," he put his hands on his hips and smirked. "Showing up out of the blue. Good to see you, brother! You gonna catch a couple?"

"Gonna try," Leo agreed, giving Priestly a wave.

Priestly watched the action for a while, sometimes with the binoculars, sometimes without. But he grew sleepy in the warmth of the late afternoon sun and became distracted watching the other spectators.

"He's going to get a beat down if we find him," a pissed off voice said sometime later, drawing his attention.

"Ok, easy, Angel…" Trucker was saying. He and Leo framed Jude on either side. Her face twisted up in pain as she limped, her right thigh reef gashed. A couple of guys tagged along to either side of them, still ranting and swearing.

"What happened?" Priestly ducked in beside Jude to take over for Trucker as he fished out his keys.

"Stupid kook snaked her wave," one of the random guys said. "She got rag dolled and bounced off the reef a couple times. Kook ain't got no business out at the Lane to begin with. Motherfucker should be over at Cowells with all the other kooks!"

"Fuck," Priestly said, having learned enough surf lingo to know that some beginner cut in on her wave. She probably had to pull some sort of crazy maneuver to avoid killing the idiot, which no doubt put her under where the power of the wave shook her like a rag doll and sent her cheese gratering against the reef.

"I've got a kit in the van," Trucker said. "Let's get over there and get you cleaned up, Angel."

She nodded, leaning heavily against Priestly as Leo ducked out to get the boards. She made it as far as the parking lot before he felt her leg give in and swung her up into his arms without a word. He'd heard how vicious the pain could be, and he knew it was important to properly disinfect such wounds because of the amount of bacteria that flourished there.

When they reached the Causemobile, Trucker told Priestly to sit her on the edge at the sliding door while he grabbed his first aid kit. Priestly did as told then sat to her left so that he was almost behind her. He looped a consoling arm around her from behind as she wiped silent tears, her head bent to inspect the scrapes and the deeper parts of the gash.

"Don't touch," Priestly scolded, capturing her hand when she went to brush at it. He could see there was debris from the reef in the wound…bits of sand and God knows what else.

Trucker pulled a small bottle out of the kit and handed it to Jude. "Drink up, Angel," he said, snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves.

"What's that?" Priestly asked as Jude chuckled and twisted the cap off the little bottle.

"Airline bottle of whiskey," Trucker replied. "Now you take her arms, Priestly, and don't let go."

Priestly must have looked horrified, because though Jude looked a little frightened herself, she laughed.

"Do it," Jude says. "He knows what he's talking about."

"And ignore any filthy names she might call you," Leo joked, standing nearby for moral support.

Priestly was glad he had her, because when Trucker dumped the peroxide on her, she leapt and howled like an outraged alley cat, her eyes screwed shut and her chest heaving as she gasped. He tightened his grip as Trucker continued with a magnifying glass and tweezers inspection, picking out any larger bits of debris that stubbornly refused to wash away, after which he followed up with more peroxide, rubbing as hard as he dared with gauze. A necessary evil, Leo told him, to get the little bits of reef out of the wound and avoid a Staph infection. Jude's protestations grew weaker. Whether that was because the cleaner wound hurt less or because she was merely exhausted, he didn't know. But her struggling against his hold grew weaker, so Priestly guessed it was probably the later. Her silent tears continued, though. He kissed her forehead and murmured what he hoped were soothing words.

"Almost done, Angel," Trucker encouraged absently, checking with the magnifying glass again but finding nothing. She hissed as he switched to iodine and then antibiotic cream.

Priestly tucked the few strands that had escaped her braid behind her ear and kissed her temple as she sagged against him, twitching a little as Trucker taped a couple big surgical size gauze pads over the gash. The procedure over with, he kissed her temple again and said,

"That was brutal. You okay?"

She nodded. "That's just the ocean sometimes."

Leo snorted. "No, that's just kooks sometimes."

Jude smirked. "True."

"Who's going where?" Trucker asked, having loaded up his board.

Priestly looked at Jude. "My place? Crash for a while?" She nodded.

"Okay, Trucker, I'm gonna drop these two and our couple of boards off, then I'll head over to your place."

"Groovy," Trucker said, closing the sliding door behind them after Priestly helped Jude out.

"You okay to walk?" Priestly asked.

She tested her bandaged leg and nodded. "I think so," she said, limping slightly beside him. "I think the whisky helped a little."

He grinned. "Cool. I've got beer at my place now, so you can have some of that if you want."

"I want," she agreed.

Later, curled up next to each other on the futon watching a DVD, Priestly asked, "I'm going to get another beer. Need anything?"

"You don't have to take care of me," she said absently, absorbed in the movie.

"I want to," he said, tucking her hair, which she'd released from her surfing braid, behind her ear. At this, she turned to look at him solemnly.

"Don't," she said.

With a sigh, he got up. "You want a beer or not?"

"Not," she replied.

Irritated, he stomped over to the refrigerator. _Try to show a little tenderness_, he thought, _and you get shot down. _He pulled a Dos Equis from the top shelf and popped the top off, tossing the empty bottle in the recycling bin and wondered again why he didn't just walk away.

* * *

_July 20__th__, 2004_

It had been a long, annoying day and Priestly was relieved it was almost over. Joe had been his usual fuckwad self, and Priestly had wanted to beat his face in more than usual. Sally continued to freak him out with her sudden stops and her deep breaths. Trucker talked to her about it, and she assured him she was going to make another appointment with the doctor. Another half hour to closing followed by a half hour of cleanup and then he could go home and have a beer. Priestly hoisted the nearly empty soup kettle wondering not for the first time how it was they ever ran out of soup in the summer. In his mind, soup was not a summer food. He poured the last few servings into a large disposable container and slapped on a lid.

There were a couple homeless guys in the neighborhood, and Trucker gave them leftovers whenever he could. The guys were quiet and generally stayed away from the shop during work hours…not because anyone shooed them away, but because there was some sort of honor system. Robby, who barely spoke, sometimes knocked on the window after closing. Trucker had given Priestly the okay to open the door for him. On that particular visit two weeks ago, when he shuffled inside, eyes averted, Trucker gave him the soup they had from that day and said softly,

"You haven't been by in a while. I wondered what happened to you."

Robby had shrugged. "You shouldn't go to the same places too often," he said, looking at the floor. "You shouldn't go when they're open. People don't like to see you. So for the nice ones who help you, you don't want to go too often or too many at one time. You should only go when they're closed. But sometimes you just get too hungry." He shrugged again, never lifting his eyes. It struck Priestly as odd, the way he sounded like he was repeating some sort of rules or some kind of checklist, as if someone sat him down one day to teach him these things.

Jen, Priestly, and Trucker had no idea how to respond to that. So they just watched him shuffle back out again. He left the soup on the counter, knowing it was about time for Robby or one of the others to come around again.

Thinking of that exchange, Priestly was surprised to notice a hard edge to Trucker's voice as he said,

"You're not welcome here, man. You need to go."

Priestly turned from the grill, which he was already scraping clean. It took less than a second for him to understand Trucker's reaction, because he felt the echo of them in his chest as he saw the man Trucker was talking to.

"Priestly," his father said stiffly, "can we talk like men?"

Funny words coming from him. But at least he was using the right name this time. Guardedly, Priestly said, "I can. Can you?"

His father nodded. "Can I take you to dinner somewhere?"

Priestly glanced at Trucker, who watched him steadily, sparing his father only a glance. He shook his head. "I don't think so. You want to talk, we can do it right here, after closing." His father opened his mouth to object, and Priestly shook his head again. "You want to talk," he said evenly, "we'll talk. You want to get me out back so you can deck me again, forget it. We talk in here, or we don't talk at all."

"Okay," he sighed. He looked around the shop and chose a booth and sat down to wait.

Priestly intentionally took his time with his usual duties. He finished cleaning the grill and went to gather the trash to take outside to the dumpster. Trucker followed him to the back and said,

"You can cut it short tonight. I can get the trash."

Priestly turned to him. "Hell, no, Trucker. I'm not hurrying to accommodate him. He wants to talk, he can fucking wait until I'm ready."

Trucker managed to somehow look amused and concerned both at once.

After taking the trash out, Priestly started cleaning the table tops. Since Jen happened to be off that day, it was just him and Trucker in the shop. The place stayed dead, and Trucker flipped the sign to closed and locked the door while Priestly finished with the table tops. To be polite, Trucker offered his father a drink. His father shook his head and said, "No, thank you. I don't need anything."

_Damn fucking right you don't, _Priestly thought. He tried to think of some other chore, but he realized, too, that he'd better just get the discussion over with. He didn't offer his father any pleasantries. He just slid into the booth across from him and said flatly, "So, talk."

His father looked down at the table top and then up at him. Priestly noticed him taking notice of the silver ball just under his lower lip, and he purposely steepled his hands so that the tattoo on his forearm would show. He wished he had a sleeveless shirt on so that his nautical star would also show, but instead he wore a t-shirt that said, _Of course I'm not perfect...there's a crack in my ass!_

"I made a mistake, Priestly," his father said quietly, looking down at the table top. "I didn't want to believe Dale was capable of something like that. I've known the man for years." Ezekiel shook his head, folding his hands in front of himself. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am."

Priestly nodded slowly, watching a couple pass by the window outside. He wondered where they could possibly be going, as every establishment he knew of along 6th Street was closed or closing soon. "I might have believed that load of crap if I didn't know you told that motherfucker Troy and his two buddies where to find me."

His father's voice grew defensive. "I had no idea Troy Bennett was asking around about you until it was too late. By the time I heard the rumors, he was on a plane."

"Yet you didn't pick up the phone," Priestly snorted sarcastically.

"Priestly, I didn't know until it was too late," his father insisted. "I came here to see you, to personally tell you I'm sorry. I know I let you down, son, but I'm asking you not to take your anger out on the church. I let you down, not the church. This lawsuit, it–"

Priestly stood up, shaking his head wildly. "Fuck! I should have fucking known," he groused. "This isn't about you and me at all. This is about saving your own ass and keeping the church from getting sued."

"Now, wait a minute!" his father's voice rose.

Priestly's accusing finger stabbed out in his father's direction. "No, you wait a minute! I told you before, Dad, you have a responsibility to the people of your church. You fucked that up all on your own. And now Holly's parents and seven other little girls' parents , and any other victims that should happen to crawl out of the woodwork before the court date are going to make sure you own up to that responsibility."

His father rose, bitter anger transforming his face. "You're just trying to punish me for every damn thing you're angry about, every damn thing you think I ever did to you. You think you're getting even with me by destroying what God gave you, poking holes in yourself and painting up your skin and with that ridiculous hair? All of that just proves you're just a petulant, pouty little kid. Why don't you come home to Latimer like a man and take a look at what you've done to our family and the church? Take a look at what you've done to your mother with all this. She's a wreck. You've convinced her I'm Satan incarnate. Congratulations. I hope you're proud of yourself."

Priestly stared coldly down at the man who'd never taken the time to see anything from his point of view and knew he wouldn't try it now, either. But he was going to say what he had to say, and then he was never going to speak to the man again. "You were always so big on telling me to take responsibility for my own actions," he said. "Guess it's time for you to learn the same lesson."

He nearly ducked out of the way in time to avoid his father's swing, but his fist bounced off Priestly's jaw. Priestly was able to avoid the follow up, though. Before he could think about it, his own fist shot out of its own accord and snapped his father's head back, causing him to stumble backward. He was surprised at the guilt he didn't feel as his father gaped at him in surprise.

"Guess that's another lesson," Priestly snapped. "You spend your life knocking someone around, don't be surprised when they finally knock back." Without another word, he slipped past his father and shoved the front door aside, leaving without a backward glance or a goodbye.


	32. Let Go

**_A/H: You know the drill. TIH= Not mine. _**

* * *

_August 4, 2004_

"What the hell?" he muttered as Jude rolled over and mumbled something about the phone. He realized his phone was ringing and nearly pushed it off the nightstand as he groped around for it. Even the light from the display was too bright for him. He squinted, his eyes slamming shut of their own accord. With a grunt he forced them open and forced them to read the time on the glaringly bright screen. _Six thirty-two a.m. _"Mom," he growled, "time difference!"

"I'm sorry, Priestly," she said, her voice thick. The sound of sorrow woke him fully.

"Mom?" he sat up. "What is it?"

"It's your father," she said. "He–he killed himself."

For just a second, everything stopped, including his breath and probably his heart. "What? He what?" Priestly asked in disbelief, something cold creeping into his awareness.

"Priestly," her voice caught. "Priestly, please come home. For me, Priestly," she added.

"How?" he asked, momentarily ignoring her request. Jude's arms slipped around him. She couldn't know what he knew, but she seemed to realize something was very, very wrong. Her chin rested on his shoulder and one hand stroked the mashed up hair at the base of his neck.

"His wrists," his mother sobbed, "in the tub…"

He wondered how she found out and then realized with some stinging disbelief that she must have gone back to him. It was the wrong thing to ask, the wrong time, but he blurted it out before thinking. "You went back to him?"

"No, Priestly," she choked. "I've been going by the house to pack up my things every day when I know your father's at church. Only when I got to the house this morning, I found him."

"I'll call you when I've got the flight number," he said numbly, disconnecting without a goodbye.

"What's going on?" Jude asked in a whisper, seeming to feel it in the air around them. He felt nothing.

"My father died." He dipped his head, wondering when feeling would come. Any feeling at all. There was nothing now, just numb. Jude's hand stroked his neck consolingly. It felt out of place to him, this consolation there was no gaping wound to smooth over. He rose from the bed and moved into the desk in the corner where the laptop he'd finally gotten was stationed.

He booked a flight to Biloxi and noted the flight number and time on a notepad. He called his mother back and gave her the information, asked her if she was up to meeting him or if he'd have to find a bus to Latimer. She assured him tearfully that she'd be there. He hung up, started packing. Jude watched him, saying nothing. He thought she probably didn't know _what_ to say. He couldn't blame her. He couldn't feel a thing but thought he should be feeling something. Yet it didn't alarm him. He had no reaction at all, just more of the same. Numb.

He didn't realize he'd dialed until Trucker answered sleepily. "Trucker," he said flatly, "I can't make it in today."

"What's up?"

"I have to go to Latimer." He could almost feel Trucker go on alert. "My father killed himself."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Trucker asked, his voice calm. Somehow, though, Priestly thought he heard worry in it somewhere.

"What? Just shut down the grill?" he asked. "That's not possible. No."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Trucker asked again, ignoring the logistics of it.

Priestly felt the first little kick of something, but the numbness rushed forth to carry it away. It became lost to him. "No, it's okay." he said. "I don't know how long I'll be."

"As long as you have to be," Trucker answered. "Anything I can do?"

He looked at Jude. "I might need a ride to the airport."

"Okay. Let me know. You flying out today?"

"Yeah. Two o'clock."

"Let me know," Trucker repeated.

"I will. Later, Truck," he said, disconnecting.

"I can take you to the airport," Jude said, rising. She stood in front of him. He couldn't read her face. He could always read her face, but he couldn't read her face. It occurred to him that he should be upset about that. But he felt nothing.

* * *

_August 8, 2012_

He stood silently beside his mother, his hair flat against his head, wearing the clothes he'd worn to the depositions, holding her up as she sagged and sobbed, looking at the shiny casket that glinted in the sun. The only thing that belied his old prep school appearance was the silver stud that caught the sun in its convex mirrored surface. There seemed to be a mocking quality in the ridiculousness of flowers scattered across the top of the casket for a man who had no sentiment. Priestly stared at the hole beneath it that would swallow his father up mere minutes after the few of them that stood graveside rode away in the dark cars.

Still, he felt nothing.

* * *

_August 11, 2004_

Priestly taped up the box that was all he wanted of his old life. He was surprised to be taking that much of it, but a week spent at his former house gave him little to do besides wander the rooms and consider. The people came and went, consoling his mother, polite but cool toward him. He was, to some, a traitor. Maybe most, he wasn't sure. To the rest, he was now a stranger.

He had dinner with the Mirandas the night before he left because Jane asked him. Holly was shy, but underneath it she was funny and smart. Jane and Robert were grateful and interested in his life in Santa Cruz. He started to feel homesick and wished his red-eye flight to California was set for that night instead of the next one. It was the first feeling he could remember having in the last week, and he was surprised at the relief that followed the realization. Jane hugged him goodbye at the door, Robert shook his hand. Holly just looked up at him shyly from her mother's side. When he left their home and strode back next door, he just stood looking up at the house he'd grown up in, waiting to feel something else. Nothing. Back to nothing. Nothing for Latimer, anyway.

It had been a long week, but it had also flown by in a blur of tasks. Changing accounts. Boxing his father's belongings because his mother couldn't do it. Setting aside things she might want to keep, like his war medals and discharge papers and some old photos. His first Bible. He'd gone through several, keeping only the first and just throwing away the others when they got too worn. His money clip. The USMC ring he wore on his right hand. The wedding band he'd never taken off. His glasses. There wasn't much left of his life when Priestly was done. She hadn't wanted to sell any of it, not even the things that might actually make some decent money, so he'd called the Salvation Army truck to come and pick it all up.

At the same time, he dismantled his bedroom, saving that single box of items to take to FedEx on the way to the airport. The rest got donated along with his father's property. His mother wasn't allowed to keep the house. It belonged to the church, and they already had a new pastor lined up. His Aunt Glenda's family helped his mother with the rest of the packing. She would put what she wanted to keep in storage and return to Glenda's after the Salvation Army truck picked up everything else.

Now it was his final day in Latimer and night was drawing near. His Uncle Bud, Glenda's husband, would be arriving in another hour to drive him down to Biloxi for his flight. He wandered up to the porch and realized his mother was in the swing at the far end, silently rocking in the shadows. She looked utterly lost, and seeing her like that, he felt a little stab. Dulled, but definitely present.

"Mom," he said softly, easing down beside her in the still-foreign clothes. He was still tugging at the cuffs and neckline, and Trucker wasn't there to tell him to knock it off.

His mother reached out for his hand, and he obligingly curled his fingers around hers. "Priestly," she said, "you've been my rock this week. Thank you."

He nodded. No sense trying to explain the nothingness he felt. He just squeezed her hand, because that's what someone with feelings would do to reassure or to console.

He didn't talk much on the drive to the airport. His uncle didn't, either. Priestly wasn't sure which camp his uncle fit into: the camp that saw him as a traitor, or the camp that saw him as a stranger. He changed in the airport bathroom, shedding his serial-killer-next-door clothes for the last time, throwing them away to prove it. There wasn't time to spike his hair. His uncle drove like a turtle on sleeping pills.

When he found Trucker at Mineta San Jose Airport, he got another twinge of relief. Trucker didn't ask, nor did he say much. Priestly was unsurprised when Trucker took him to his place. It wasn't much later than they usually got there after closing the shop, and it was barbecue night. Priestly knew Trucker was probably expecting some sort of report from him on the whole thing.

After a meal of chicken and corn on the cob, they carried their plates to the kitchen and put them in the sink to be washed later. Trucker grabbed them each a beer from the fridge, handing him one, gesturing that he should head back out to the deck. Priestly stood looking at the sky, listening to the soft jazzy band playing in the park. Finally, when it was apparent that he wasn't going to speak, Trucker stared into his eyes and asked,

"What's going on in there, kid?"

"Nothing," he admitted, shaking his head. "There's nothing," Priestly said, staring down at the deck floor. And then, when he looked up again to try to meet Trucker's eyes, something collapsed inside him and it hit him quite literally like a dam burst. As it crushed his chest, it tore a helpless gasp from him, rocking him on his feet like an earthquake rolling under pavement.

Trucker's arms came around him as the world imploded, reminding Priestly of the one time he'd gone out with Mike to try to learn to surf. He'd wiped out viciously that day. This was just like that wipe out…it was like going under, directionless, just turning in the swirl. Can't find up, don't know down. Life flashing by in a burst of color and memory and sound, disconnected bits of pain and fury. He felt again, but right now, in this moment, Priestly wanted the numbness back with everything in him as Trucker just held on and rocked and said,

"Yeah, man, just let it go. Just let go…"

* * *

_August 11, 2004_

Priestly sat across from Trucker on the deck nursing his second beer and wiping the last of the wetness from his eyes. He explained the utter nothing he'd felt all week, just a robot on autopilot, performing as programmed. And then Trucker watched him stare at the planking between his feet. The kid still looked lost. Trucker's heart twisted at the bleak look on Priestly's face.

"I think the worst thing is that I know that no matter what, I should have felt _something_. My father died, and I stood there looking at the casket, looking at the flowers and everyone in black and the open grave and I'm thinking how that's it, my father's just in that box and gone, and I felt nothing at all." He shook his head, his voice lowering to a whisper. "What kind of person does that make me?"

"The kind that got kicked around," Trucker answered flatly. "The kind that got abused in worse ways. Invisible ways." Trucker reached across from his own chair, putting a hand on Priestly's shoulder. He squeezed gently, saw the hope in the kid's eyes when he said those words. "Pretty amazing you turned out so good. Because you did, Priestly," Trucker told him, squeezing again. "You're a good guy." A teasing tone entered his voice. "How do you suppose that happened?"

Not realizing it was a rhetorical question, Priestly looked at him earnestly. "My mom, I guess…"

Trucker chuckled and watched the kid's mouth quirk up a little. "Maybe," he agreed. He put his hand on the side of Priestly's head and gave it a playful push to the side, which made the kid grin wider. Trucker smiled back at him. He'd be okay. Eventually.

* * *

_August 20, 2004_

Priestly grooved into the grill, bopping his head to Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. A couple of the regulars sent up a chorus of hellos as he pulled one ear bud out and switched the iPod to 'hold'. He grinned at them.

"You missed me?" he asked, ducking out of the way as Sally, acting like her old self, breezed past him.

"We thought maybe you and that hottie of yours took off someplace together," one of the construction guys said with a waggle of eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes. "I wish," he said. Even though she'd pissed him off the other night with her stupid 'close, but not too close' thing, the scenario painted by the dusty guy in the day-glo vest was better than what he'd actually been doing. He gave the guys a nod and made his usual rounds, giving Lucille a grin and Bam Bam a scratch on his way by.

When he made it back out front, hands washed and tying his apron, Jen glanced over at him from the laptop with her usual half smile. "Hi, Priestly," she said.

"Hey, Jen. Thanks for the card," he said, referring to the sympathy card that had come in the mail while he'd been gone. He doubted she knew any of the details, though she'd been there the first time his father had shown up, and she'd seen what the results of that visit had been. But he knew her heart was in the right place. He squeezed her shoulder.

She nodded at him. "I missed you around here," she said. "There was no one to play 'stuck cleaning all the tables' with."

He grinned. Since they usually closed together, they had what must be the longest running game of rock, paper, scissors going. Whichever of them lost had to clean the table tops by themselves. They played every night they both worked, but Jen was such a graceful winner that she usually ended up pitching in, anyway. Or maybe that was because he goofed around when she wanted to go home. "Must've felt like your longest losing streak ever."

She smiled.

Priestly turned to the cold station. As he did, Sally faltered again, much to his disappointment. He'd thought when he came in and saw her looking like always that maybe she'd gotten whatever it was resolved. "Sal?" he questioned.

She sighed and then smiled brightly at him, though he couldn't mistake the fatigued look around her usually dancing eyes. "We're working on it," she said. "Seems my doctor is having trouble finding a combination of medicines that doesn't make me a zombie."

He frowned. "Find another doctor," he suggested flatly. Sally just gave his back a pat as she passed by on her way to the soda machine.

"You're sweet," she said.

He rolled his eyes as Joe snorted heavily.

* * *

_August 21, 2004_

Mike straightened as he missed, standing back from the pool table to let Priestly figure out what useless shot to take next. Priestly didn't want to admit it, but he was seeing exactly what Mike had been talking about earlier that year. Jude was picking fights, being crabby about nothing. At first he thought it was just their deepening familiarity with each other. Once the newness of a relationship wore off, once you really, really started to know someone you became truly naked with them, truly yourself. And maybe Jude's naked was bitchier than he thought.

Fuck it all, he still loved her, though. He sometimes couldn't figure out why. And sometimes had been more and more often over the last couple weeks as September drew closer. School started on the 1st, but she was leaving on the 29th, almost identical to last year.

He also thought it was probably separation anxiety, which he knew she had even if she steadfastly refused to admit it. He knew she cared about him. He'd bet anything he had that she actually loved him, too, though she'd take another rag dolling before she'd admit it. That was what pissed him off so much, that she couldn't just stop being her stubborn-ass self for two seconds and take a good look at the cracks in all those walls she put up.

"Man, what exactly were you going for with that one?" Mike laughed as he missed the pocket by a mile. Maybe two. He shook his head.

"You don't want to know."

When Jude came back from the bathroom with Mike's latest interest, Priestly grabbed her from behind and swung her braid over her shoulder so he could kiss the nape of her neck. She smelled like salt and sun, having come out with them straight after surf school. He was still as interested in her as he ever was, and she was the laughing, bold, quirky Jude he liked the best, the one that he noticed disappearing whenever it came closer to one of her departure days.

For now, though, she watched Mike's date, Leah, line up her shot, leaning into him and putting her own arm over the arm he had around her waist. She nudged backward just a little so that her bottom brushed against him suggestively. Priestly tucked his lips close to her ears and said, "Watch it. Nobody wants to see me sporting wood in the middle of the pool hall."

"I do," she teased, glancing back at him.

"No one but you," he corrected, nipping at her shoulder in that way that made her shiver.

"Last game," she announced out loud, so that he hid a grin against her neck. "I have to be up early tomorrow." A white lie, unless you considered that she had to be at the groomer's at ten and she really, really liked to sleep.

Mike nodded, and Priestly let Jude go as Leah's shot banked wide. Jude was better at pool than he was, thankfully, or they'd be still be standing there at last call. She sunk three before missing, and then Mike finished the game a few minutes later.

He couldn't accuse her of driving too fast from the anticipation. She always drove too fast. But she was pretty quick to run up the garage stairs, and when he nudged the door closed with his heel, she launched herself at him. He caught her, surprised, and gasped into her mouth as she ground against him. He didn't know where it was coming from, but he didn't really care, either. Kissing her, he slipped his hands to her ass and slowly made his way to his bedroom with her.

He tasted more of the salt on her skin, her neck, her shoulder, dragging his tongue down and down until her sounds and her breath roared in his ears and she bucked and rolled beneath him. He took her right to the edge before crashing into her like the waves she rode. And like his own experience with the ocean, she rolled him, pulling him under until he nearly drowned, her release saving him at the last gasping second and tossing him into total bliss.

* * *

_August 26, 2004_

"Priestly?" Jude asked, tracing patterns on his bare chest in the dark. It was too early to actually sleep, but he was about to fall, anyway.

"Hmmm?" he asked sleepily, listening to the rain tapping on his bedroom windows. Before she could answer, a phone rang.

He wasn't sure if it was hers or his. He'd just upgraded from his POS TracFone to an actual contract plan and he hadn't set it up yet. Jude was too lazy to change her own ringtone, so now they had the same one. Both were on the night stand on his side of the bed.

Priestly reached over and plucked the closest one from the table and pressed the answer button, bringing it to his ear. Before he could manage a hello, a cheerful voice bounced over the line.

"Hey, gorgeous! You coming to Jamieson's back to school bash Monday night? I missed you this summer, girl…I can't wait to get my hands on you!"

He sat up. "Who the fuck is this?"

Jude shot up, too.

"Who the fuck is _this?_" the guy answered. Priestly didn't get a chance to answer back. Jude wrestled the phone out of his hand with a dirty look.

"Hello?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Priestly slid out of bed, found his boxers on the floor. He suddenly felt too naked. Putting the boxers on didn't help, so he got back into his shorts, too, and then his t-shirt. He almost felt like putting on a jacket. He stared at her as she glanced at him and then away.

"Kevin, this isn't a good time. Can I call you later?" she asked, rising now, too. "Alright. Yes, I'll call you later. Bye."

He waited. She tossed the phone down on the bed and began putting her clothes back on. She said nothing. She slid into her shoes and grabbed her phone from the bed. When she left the room, heading for the front door he followed, flipping on the lights.

"So, that's it? You're not going to explain?"

"Priestly, Kevin is my roommate's brother. We're friends."

"Friends?" he lifted his eyebrows. "The kind of friends who want to get their hands all over you? How many of those friends do you have?"

Jude paused. "Priestly," she sighed, "it's not like that, I swear."

He glared at her. "Whatever happened to, 'I'm at an all girl college. There are men in town, but I'm usually studying too hard to notice'?"

She looked cornered. "Priestly…" she shoved her hair back from her face with both hands.

"Are you sleeping with him?" He really, really didn't want to hear the answer to that question. Apparently, Jude also really didn't want to answer it. She just looked at him, caught. A little sick, actually. Miserable. As miserable as he now felt. He had his answer. Fuck. Yeah. Fuck. Or fucking, anyway.

"About a month before the spring semester ended, I got a little drunk at a party," she said, closing her eyes. "I was so homesick I thought I was going to freaking die. I made out with Kevin." She must have seen the look on his face because her face twisted up. She looked like she did the last time they parted ways for the fall semester, except this time she didn't cover her eyes with one hand or her mouth with the other. "I swear, Priestly, I just made out with him. We didn't…" she trailed off. "That's what he must have meant about getting his hands on me."

He nodded as she began to swipe at silent tears. The fact that she looked just as destroyed by it as he felt did nothing to close the searing wound that opened in him, like the separating of flesh by a quick scalpel. He felt like he was on a table somewhere with his chest cracked open except instead of the surgeon holding his heart in hand, it was Jude. She had it firmly in her grasp and she was going to just tear it right out of him while it was still beating, never mind that he was still alive and still needed it.

"Priestly," her voice was soft now as she recognized the change in him.

"Do me a favor," he rasped hoarsely, moving to the door. He held it open, not looking at her. "Next time you come to town," he shook his head a little, "don't come knocking."

"Priestly," she begged.

He stood motionless there, barely feeling the doorknob clutched in his hand. He said nothing. There was nothing left to say, except to recycle the same bullshit they'd been saying. She'd insist she'd told him all along, and that was true. He just hadn't listened, choosing instead to rely upon her actions, which he'd thought were speaking louder than her words. Apparently not. His bad.

Finally, after a few long and torturous moments, she realized he wouldn't relent. She slipped past him out the door, careful not to touch him. He shoved the door closed in her wake, still unable to move. The sound of her Beetle peeling out of the drive thawed him, but only long enough for him to flop down on the futon and fling an arm across his eyes to block out the light, which suddenly hurt.


	33. With a Little Help From my Friends

_August 27, 2004_

The last thing Priestly wanted to do was go to work. Last night, with Jude…memory came rolling in on a wave of nausea.

He sighed and rolled off the futon, where he'd unceremoniously gotten pretty drunk and fallen asleep. Now it felt like a dwarf gold miner with a pick was chipping away at the inside of his skull and his mouth felt furry and dry. And his stomach. Jesus. He could feel the green seeping into his face. Trucker's hangover cure coming right up.

There was no calling in sick, no matter how much he wished he could. A week in Latimer was bad enough, but he'd woken up the day after arriving back in Santa Cruz with a fever of 102.9, as sick as he could ever remember being in his entire life. When he'd called Trucker on Saturday to tell him he was still throwing up, Trucker swung by the apartment unannounced and forced him to urgent care, where he'd nearly passed out from dehydration and the worst pain he'd ever felt coming from his lower left side. Who knew acute appendicitis could cause symptoms on the _opposite _side of the body from where it was located? He sure as shit hadn't.

The surgeon who performed the emergency appendectomy told Trucker it was as close to rupturing as he'd ever seen, and Trucker had kindly relayed that information to him as he drifted in a painkiller fog afterward. It was all to say that going back to work on August 20th after missing 14 scheduled work days had done nothing for his bank account or his paid time off, which had been exhausted by Troy and his goons earlier that year.

Priestly sighed and gulped down a few swigs of beer as he flipped the fried egg. He felt like crap…mentally and physically. School was starting without him this semester…he couldn't even afford a single class. At this rate, he'd graduate at the age of forty. Trying to pay off two hospital bills and the credit card bill for the airline ticket was going to be tough enough. He couldn't get into student loan debt, too. Add the rent check that was due in four days and he'd be lucky to buy ramen noodles.

* * *

_September 12, 2004_

Trucker sat in the back booth working on the books while rain poured outside the grill. It was slow. Customers were apparently not in the mood to come out in this weather. He didn't worry too much about it. Since Jen's internet site, even the slow days were busier than before. But after two days of the rain, he was hoping for some clearing so he could surf. Not that he couldn't surf in the rain or that he hadn't before, but this particular storm system was making the surf too volatile even for the likes of him.

Sally slid into the booth across from him.

"Hi, Angel," he greeted absently.

"Trucker, do you know what's going on with Priestly these days?"

He looked up, removing his reading glasses. Priestly. He sighed. "Youth," he answered with a wry grin, which Sally returned.

"Well," she said fondly, "if he's allowed to worry about me and come to you to get you to nag at me, I feel entitled to do the same."

Trucker smiled faintly at that. Somehow, he'd become the go between. He didn't really know exactly how that always happened, but no matter what employee, he could regularly count on acting as mediator, counselor, you name it. And he loved his "kids", which included Sally. He made it a point to hire only people he got a good vibe from. He'd certainly been wrong a few times, but for the most part he genuinely enjoyed and cared for his grill family. And truthfully, he'd been worried about Priestly, himself. Not really anything new there, though, he supposed. The worry started in Perdido Key and never really stopped with that kid.

"What's going on?" he asked as if he didn't know most of what Priestly had been up against.

Sally just looked at him. "C'mon, Trucker," she said, calling him out. "Don't play innocent. You already know whatever it is that's got him so down in the dumps. He doesn't even have the energy to fight with Joe these days."

That was true. He backed down too easily whenever his topics roused even the slightest ire in Joe. The kid had gone from loud, happy, and funny to quiet and subdued. Though he could still be counted on for wisecracks, he offered them less often, choosing instead to watch and listen to everything around him instead of participating.

The regulars noticed, but like Trucker, maybe they'd just known Priestly long enough to realize it was part of the package. He was a passionate guy, and passionate people roared hot and ran cold. The sun shined but in exchange, the rain fell hard sometimes.

Trucker sighed as he realized Sally was still waiting for a response. "He's got a lot going on, Sally. You know that."

She nodded. "But when is enough enough? How much space do we give him before we need to close it in and try something different?" Space. That's what he told her last week when she was fretting. Give him some time to sort stuff out. If that doesn't work, he'd told her, I'll talk to him again.

One corner of his mouth lifted. "What do you suggest, Angel?"

"I suggest a company barbecue," she said. "There's safety in numbers."

He sat up fully and regarded her across the booth. "Done. You bring the potato salad, I'll handle the burgers."

She lifted her brows. "Those burgers from his birthday?"

He nodded.

She brightened. "He loved those." she said.

Before he let her get up, he asked, "What's going on with you? How are you feeling these days?"

She sighed. "Better. Still no answers," she added with a slight frown. She'd been having fewer of her 'episodes' as she called them, but she was still having them.

He took off his glasses. "Angel," he said carefully, "you know the Florida stuff is just a joke, right? If you need to slow down or if it's time to make good on those threats…" He trailed off.

"I know," Sally answered with a sad smile. "It might come to that, Trucker," she admitted. "But I'm not ready yet."

She scooted out of the booth and got back to work, leaving him to his thoughts.

Sally was his oldest employee and a very close friend. She'd never needed to work, but she'd chosen to work side by side with Scooter until Trucker started the grill. Before that, he'd been working for Scooter, in fact, at the Scooter's Diner location on Pacific. It was Scooter who suggested he buy the grill and give it a go, himself. He'd thought Scooter was nuts. But he'd been pushing forty, an old surfer hippie working the grill at a diner. He'd been about to wave away the suggestion when Scooter sat him down and said he was selling the chain to a food service corporation. He knew the corporation would come in and make all sorts of changes that Trucker would find oppressive and suffocating.

"Now's the time, Trucker," Scooter told him.

He'd learned the business from Scooter well, but no matter how well you know something, it's never the same as firsthand experience. The bills piled up, the need for repairs never ended. He'd been a couple months away from closing his doors when Sally marched into the grill one morning just one year after he opened and said,

"Scooter says you need some help. Give me an apron."

She didn't start out waitressing for him. She started as manager, shoving him into the job of silent owner while she showed him the ropes up close. She'd done plenty of time working at Scooter's, but he was an old fashioned guy who preferred that the love of his life stay at home to raise the kids. When they'd been unable to have any, Sally changed the game plan. There was no point in staying home with nothing to do but stare at the walls. Like a lot of women in her position, she volunteered and found hobbies, but in the end, Sally had too much energy to burn, so she'd joined Scooter at the diner.

When Trucker left to start the grill, Scooter was still wrapped up in the details of the buyout. He didn't have time to help his friend and former employee, so he'd sent Sally to check things out. After a year of flailing and a year and a half of watching Sally showing him how to turn a profit at the grill, she stepped back and started working the tables and nagged at him to get a grill man.

Trucker looked around the grill, seeing Sally in the cheerful décor. She'd been the one to suggest he swap the 50s diner look for a laid back surfing motif. She and Scooter had given him the parrot statue. She'd hung the boundary flags up over the chair rail because she said it would remind people of the spectator boundaries at surfing contests. She'd found a buyer for the old booths, minus the one Trucker took to his place for a souvenir, and she'd found him the best price on the new tables.

He hated losing her. He knew her jokes were a gentle preparation for the real thing. And she'd been joking for about five years now, so he figured there couldn't be much time left. His heart ached. The fact that she was a good employee was pale in comparison to the fact that she'd saved his grill, saved his ass, and had just been one of the best friends he'd ever had.

Trucker sighed heavily and put his glasses back on to finish the books and to wait for Priestly to come in for his shift, wishing the kid would burst energetically into the shop again and save him the extra gray hair.

* * *

_September 15, 2004_

Priestly sat on the deck, munching on his Trucker burger, as he'd decided to call them. Trucker had declared it company barbecue night, so Jen and Sally were there, too. To be fair Trucker always invited Joe, but he never came. Priestly was glad for it because he didn't want to have his nights ruined the way a lot of his days–at least until Joe's shift ended–were ruined.

The band in the park was playing zydeco, which he'd heard a lot of growing up, given Mississippi's proximity to Lousiana. He didn't mind it. It was energetic and happy, and he figured he could use the mood boost. Plus, he'd heard it so often it sort of faded into the background.

Trucker thought he was subtle, but he was about as subtle as a rhinoceros parading through a museum. Priestly put on his game face and tried to appear more upbeat and unaffected than he was feeling.

When he tuned into the conversation, Trucker was saying, "The woman is a billionaire. Losing what she lost in that insider trading thing was chump change to her. That's what makes it so wrong. It's the little investor that always suffers from these things because they have no access to that kind of information."

"Martha Stewart is a real bitch," Priestly nodded, picking up on who they were talking about from sheer context. "Not only is she responsible for making the average woman feel totally inadequate for not, you know, making a wardrobe out of old curtains, she's completely unapologetic about the whole stock thing."

Jen smiled. "You're mixing her up with Scarlett O'Hara. I don't think she's ever made a dress out of curtains. And besides, I thought I read something somewhere about an apology."

Priestly shook his head. "Even if she did, it's kind of negated by her going on Larry King and talking about what a miniscule sum of money it was to her," he snorted.

Sally nodded. "I heard about that. I thought that was pretty low class for someone who acts so hoity-toity."

Priestly faded out again, focusing on the world's best burger and the crazy hitch of the zydeco, trying not to think about Jude. He thought maybe he was going to have to ask Trucker to change barbecue night to a different night, but he didn't want to give it any more weight than it already had.

After dinner, Trucker seemed to notice how distracted he was and suggested a game of gin rummy, then forced him to deal the cards. Worse, he announced this particular version of gin was called Tell on Your Neighbor. The person that started the game had to pose a question and the person playing after had to answer it and pose a different question. No one could ask the same question twice. It was sort of like Truth or Dare, except if you wanted to take a pass on the question, which you could only do twice per game, you had to take two cards from the draw pile. Trucker declared he would go first.

"Sally," he asked as he arranged the cards in his hand, "what boy gave you your first kiss?"

Sally laughed. "Oh, I'm glad Scoot isn't here for this. He's not happy when I tell this story." She arranged her cards as she spoke. "I was a late bloomer, guys. I didn't get my first kiss until I was seventeen years old. That's what happens when you go to an all girls Catholic school. And, of course, I went to school back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, Scoot and I met at a high school Sadie Hawkins dance. It wasn't the kind where you ask the boy to attend…it was a joint affair with the boy's college prep down the street. But once the guys were there, the girls chose who they wanted to ask to dance. So here's this handsome Lacrosse player, Scooter, and his buddies. We looked at each other and I was hooked. But he was a little too pleased with himself, so instead, I asked his buddy, Dale Ryan, for a dance." She smirked. "I didn't know it but the two of them got in an argument just as they were arriving at the dance…over a bottle of soda, of all things. So Dale lays one on me to get back at Scooter, because he can plainly see that Scooter is really hopped up over him accepting my invitation. The two of them almost had a fist fight right there on the gym floor."

Priestly chuckled, watching her discard. She glanced at Jen.

"Man," Sally complained, "It's a lot easier answering a question than thinking of a good one, isn't it?" After a moment's thought, she asked, "If you had to or someone you loved would die, which regular male customer at the grill would you take all your clothes off in front of?"

As Trucker and Priestly snickered, Jen blushed. "Sally!" she exclaimed, putting her cards down to cover her face bashfully. Sally's laugh spilled richly into the night air. Seeing Priestly's amusement, she pointed to him and said, "Just you wait, I'll get you for laughing." Sighing, she drew a card and found a place for it in her hand. "I suppose if somebody would die I'd probably manage to take my clothes off in front of the construction worker that orders for his group."

"Michael," Trucker said helpfully.

"Oh," Jen nodded, still red in the face, "good. Thanks. Always better to know the names of people you get naked in front of."

Priestly almost choked on the swallow of beer. "Why, Jennifer, I think you just made a joke!"

She rolled her eyes at him and then stared at her cards for so long he prompted her with a nudge of his elbow. She jabbed back at him as she discarded. "Priestly…what is your first name?" When his eyebrows shot up she smiled sweetly at him.

He snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm not answering that." He drew two cards for the pass and another for his turn and stuck his tongue out at her, which made Sally hoot with laughter.

"You two are like brother and sister," she chided.

Instantly he put the tip of his finger a hair's breadth from her face and sneered, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!"

"Mom!" Jen called out, playing along.

Priestly smirked and discarded the same card he'd just picked up. "Trucker…" he thought hard, trying to come up with something good but still appropriate. "If you had to spend 24 hours with either Rush Limbaugh or Bernie Madoff, which would you choose?"

Trucker shook his head. "Either the world's biggest all around jerk or the world's greediest yuppie jerk?" He drew a card. "God. That's a great question because you know I wouldn't want to be caught dead within ten miles of either of them. But I guess Rush. After I listen to him for too long I just sort of zone out, anyway."

The next time around, Jen asked him what the first name on his driver's license was. Priestly took two more cards and objected to rephrasing a question already asked. The time after that, she asked what the first name on his birth certificate was, and he smirked and said, "Not answering that. You can't make me."

Trucker and Sally just listened to the two of them bicker back and forth about whether she was allowed to ask the question. Finally, Trucker said, "I think we have to rule out different versions of the same question, Jen."

It was her turn to stick her tongue out at him. "Fine. Priestly, what do you plan to pierce next?"

He smiled and tapped his left nostril. "Right here, baby. Soon as I get the spare cash."

Trucker threw a clean but wadded up napkin at Jen. "You can do better than that, Angel."

She tried, but she had trouble asking embarrassing or awkward questions. All at once, Sally declared gin and that the night was over because she was bushed. Jen glanced at him as she finished hugging Sally.

"Need a ride, Priestly?"

"Sure," he said, nodding. He was sort of tired, himself, and the thought of a ride instead of the bus was appealing. "Sal," he said, stooping to hug her, "see you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," she agreed.

"I'm off," Jen said, "so Priestly will have to cover the laptop."

Priestly sighed. "Unless Trucker finally hires someone else," he chided loudly.

"I'm trying," Trucker said. "Nobody's been coming in."

"Truck," Priestly said, punching his shoulder lightly. Trucker slapped his in return.

"Drive safely, kids."

He ducked into Jen's old Honda with a yawn. "Remember how to get to my place?"

"Yeah," she said. She'd driven him home a couple times before.

"Thanks for hanging out tonight," he said after they'd been driving for a few minutes.

One corner of her mouth lifted in the darkness as he let her know he knew it was all one of Trucker's interventions. "Did it help?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it did," he admitted. "Good to get out of your own head for a while, I guess."

"Well," she said, "if you ever need to do it again, just ask. My life's not too exciting, but–″

"Why do you always do that?" he asked, frowning at her.

"Do what?" she asked innocently, glancing at him before glancing back at the nearly deserted street ahead of them.

"Run yourself down like that. Like you're trying to talk people out of giving you a chance or something."

She looked vaguely embarrassed. She shrugged.

"What? You think in my private life I'm a spy or something? Always up to something cool or exciting?" he snorted. "You know what I mostly do after work?"

She didn't respond, just glanced at him with a vaguely curious look.

"I might drink a beer at my little table on the landing. Or, maybe if it's a really exciting night I might read a book or watch some TV. Surf the internet. If I go out, it's just Moe's or Mojo's. Big whoop." He shrugged. "And anyway, I've been waiting for you to take me up on that offer I made you."

She looked puzzled as she pulled up to his apartment. "What offer?"

He got out of the car then ducked back down to look at her. "To be your bar buddy. So you don't have to sit alone while your friends go off and dance. Though, truthfully, Jen, this is the new millennium. You can ask a guy to dance. A lot of us are shy, too."

She gave him a look, cocking her head. "Night, Priestly," was all she said.

He watched her do a slow U-turn and tried not to think of the way Jude always rocketed away from the curb. And then he stared up at the sky and felt loneliness fall back down on him like a stage curtain. With a sarcastic snort he thought, _ And…fade to black._


	34. I Will Remember You

_November 19, 2004_

Priestly stood at the grill, bopping to the music in his head as he flipped cheesesteaks for the construction crew while also listening for the laptop to beep. Jen was off. It was unusually cold and windy out and close to Thanksgiving, so a lot of the crowds were either huddled at home or out preparing. Business was on the slower edge of normal due mostly to the regulars.

Trucker grabbed yesterday's receipts and retreated to his booth at the back. Priestly continued grooving out to the song in his head. He thought Trucker might let Sally leave early. When either he or Jen was out, Sally typically stayed past her normal shift until they could determine whether or not they were in the weeds.

He glanced up as he saw her coming out of the corner of his eye. She stopped short.

"Sal?" he asked, spatula hovering over the steaks.

Her face drained of color. Priestly tossed the spatula down and lunged at her to grab the tray she carried as it wobbled, and then he hurriedly tossed it in the general direction of the front counter to catch Sally as she fell forward.

"_TRUCKER_!" he shouted in utter panic, cradling the tiny woman in his arms, turning her gently so she was face up instead of facedown. He tried to find a pulse at her neck. "Sal? C'mon, Sal," he begged as Trucker skidded around the counter, took in the situation, and nearly tore the phone off the wall.

"Is she breathing?"

Priestly ducked his head down close to her face, then looked back at Trucker, nodding. "Yeah." He reached down for her wrist, unable to find a pulse at her neck.

"I need an ambulance at Beach City Grill," Trucker said, rattling off the address. "I've got an employee that just passed out."

"Sal?" Priestly asked again. Her eyelids fluttered. "Sally?"

Trucker edged past him to save the cheesesteaks, which were starting to smoke a little.

Nothing. Just the eyelids and then nothing. Priestly swore softly. "C'mon, Sal," he urged again, stroking the wrist he still held, comforted by the faint beat he detected. Her eyelids fluttered again. "Sally?"

Trucker hurried the sandwiches to the construction guys. Spooked, they didn't even protest the fact that he'd packed them to go instead of for dining in. Priestly heard them chorus things like, "Man, I hope she's ok." and "Tell her to get well soon." as they shuffled out.

"I'm sorry," he heard Trucker say. "We've got a family emergency here. I'm closing now. Please try us again another day."

The wail of a siren covered anything else. In another moment, the siren cut off and doors slammed. Trucker said, "She's back here behind the counter."

Two EMTs with a gurney and a crash kit appeared, took in Priestly holding Sally and got to work. "What's her name?"

"Sally," he rasped, looking up at Trucker.

"Sally? Hon?" one of the EMTs said. "Did she hit her head?"

"No," Priestly replied softly. "I caught her."

"Sally?" the EMT asked again as the other wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm and clipped a pulse oximeter to her finger. Her eyelids fluttered again. "Sally? C'mon, sweetheart…" The EMT looked at him. "What happened before she lost consciousness? Was she stumbling? Was her face drooping? Was she slurring?"

"She didn't say anything or stumble," Priestly replied numbly, absently rubbing his thumb over the wrist he still held. "She just stopped, got really pale and started to drop the tray she was carrying. And then she just passed out."

The two EMTs gabbled numbers back and forth like baseball scores and one of them eased Sally away from Priestly. "Count of three," he told his partner. "One, two, three…" The two EMTs lifted her onto the gurney and buckled her down as the other one radioed Dominican.

Priestly looked up at Trucker helplessly for a minute. Trucker darted back against the window by the register counter to let them by. He grabbed the phone again, probably to call Scooter. Priestly stood and watched the ambulance swallow Sally up, doors closing with a crushing finality he didn't like. And then the ambulance wailed away again.

He looked around. Trucker had flipped the sign over earlier, signaling the grill was closed. Priestly turned off the grill and hurriedly packed away the cold sub fixings in the subzero, listening to Trucker's soft voice but not making out the words. He picked up the spatula he'd dropped on the floor and the spare Trucker pulled to save the construction order and put them in the sink.

The tray he'd hastily thrown sat dejectedly on the front counter, broken glass in a pool of watered down remnants of beverages that swam just at the lip of the tray, punctuated by soggy crumpled napkin islands and silverware reefs. He used a spare bar towel to suck up some of the excess liquid, then carried the still swimming tray to the sink, pulling the unbroken glasses and the silverware off before dumping the tray over the trash bin. When it was empty, he put it in the sink with the other things.

Trucker hung up the phone. They did a hasty closing cleanup, cutting corners that could be left until opening the next day. "You coming to Dominican?" Trucker asked as he locked the front door.

Priestly nodded and tugged off his apron, tossing it in a heap on the shelf in the back room. He grabbed his army jacket from the peg by the door, waiting for Trucker to lock the back door behind him.

They were silent on the ride to Dominican. Priestly fidgeted in the passenger seat, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans, his knee bouncing until Trucker reached out and stilled it. "Sorry," he mumbled. Trucker said nothing.

Scooter was already there, looking disheveled and pale, standing at the window in the waiting area. When Trucker quietly said his name, his head whipped around. Trucker gently embraced the man. Scooter was a big guy, but he looked frail somehow.

Priestly stood nearby, nodding at Scooter when he glanced his way. Scooter reached out touched his sleeve by way of greeting.

And then they waited. Interminably, or so it felt. Just when Priestly thought he would scream, a man in blue scrubs called out, "Scooter Dailey?"

Scooter moved so fast you'd think he was on fire. He disappeared with the man in the scrubs. Priestly and Trucker looked at each other nervously. The look on his face was one he'd never seen before. A shiver coursed through him, and he put his arm around Trucker's shoulder and squeezed. There weren't words to make it better. Priestly knew Sally had worked for him for a long, long time and that they were good friends.

Scooter came back wiping his eyes, his spectacles dangling limply from one hand. He looked at them with sad eyes. "Heart attack," he said. "She's resting," he added immediately as he saw their faces.

Priestly rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as Trucker embraced Scooter again, murmuring something to him that made him nod.

They weren't allowed to see her that night, but Trucker and Priestly stood talking softly with Scooter for a few more minutes. Scooter assured them he'd be alright there by himself. They were going to let him see her again as soon as she had a room secured in the ICU.

Back in the Causemobile, Trucker asked quietly, "Can you work doubles for a while until we can figure things out at the grill?"

He nodded. "Yeah, man. Whatever you need."

* * *

_November 24__th__, 2004_

They invaded Sally's house at just after ten in the morning with bags of ingredients. She was home resting. Scooter had told them she seemed a little sad over Thanksgiving, so Trucker asked Priestly and Jen, who was a little depressed over not being able to make it home again that year, if they would mind helping him keep the tradition alive. Both readily accepted the challenge. When Scooter let them in, Sally'd padded to the front door behind him to see who was there. Her delighted smile had Priestly breaking into a wide grin beside him. Trucker knew the kid had a soft spot for her.

"Skipping Thanksgiving," Trucker told her, "is out of the question." Not to mention no good at all for a woman who loved to cook and gather her friends close. Family, really.

After a round of hand washing, they set to work. Sally sat at the little breakfast nook table looking a little tired but otherwise her vibrant self. Trucker had already prepped the turkey, but he explained his secret was to brine it for 24 hours and then shove butter and spices up under the skin, which sealed them into the meat and kept the bird moist. Sally was intrigued by that and teased him that he was making her mouth water.

It was a little bit of magic finding a place for it in the fridge until it was time to put it in the oven, but they did it. Priestly did food prep, slicing what needed slicing and dicing what needed dicing and measuring out dry ingredients while Jen assembled the side dishes. In between there was the usual chatter. Jetta watched mournfully from her post on the deck, nose to the arcadia door. People began to arrive as they were putting the final touches on, starting with Mel Shipley, who was always early.

"Mel," Trucker greeted him with a handshake. He glanced at Trucker and then away, as usual.

"Hi, Trucker," he said, staring at the table Jen helped Sally set. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"You too, man. Why don't you take the back corner like usual?"

He nodded moved to his seat.

Soon, they were all assembled around the table, joining hands and dipping their heads for Sally's yearly blessing.

"Lord," she said, "I'm ever thankful for my dear, sweet, hovering Scoot, and for Trucker for being my dear friend and cooking the turkey this year. Thank you for Davis, who still fixes the computer for us. Thank you for our good neighbors, Simon and Jean, who recently stepped up with a flood of delicious casseroles and tender loving care. Thanks for Priestly, who caught me so I didn't smash my face on the floor and who chopped and prepped his little heart out this afternoon. Thanks for Jen, who made the lovely side dishes we're about to receive. And last but never least, thank you for Mel. Tell him that the answer to 9 down is 'replicate'. Keep watch over these people I love, Lord, and bless this table. Amen."

"Amen," they chorused, chuckling appreciatively.

Trucker listened to Priestly and Mel discuss the Red Sox winning their first World Series in 86 years which led to Simon and Jean waxing nostalgic on baseball as they knew it as kids which somehow led to a lively discussion about how ridiculously overpaid athletes and celebrities were.

"At least with sports you can make the argument that an athlete's career is usually far shorter than the average career," Jen said thoughtfully. "And if they get injured, their career might end much earlier than intended. But even if you do the math, they're still paid way too much."

Davis nodded. "At least you recognize that aspect. But it's all supply and demand. If we didn't buy what they were selling, they wouldn't get paid what they get paid."

Priestly nodded. "This country's priorities suck. We pay sports stars millions a year and we pay most teachers under fifty thousand." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Teachers are much better paid in Asia and in the UK," Mel remarked. "And more respected."

"Police officers…they risk their lives for people and they get paid about the same as teachers," Scooter said.

"Doctors," Trucker offered. "You think they make buckets of money, but at least in the beginning, most of them are so deep in debt with student loans and paying such high premiums for malpractice insurance that their take home is actually pretty modest."

Trucker instantly regretted his words when Mel asked Sally if she was okay. He hadn't meant to put the focus on her health. He knew she wanted a carefree Thanksgiving because that's just who she was…more interested in focusing on others than herself. Luckily, however, after a few brief moments of discussion, Jen took advantage of a miniscule pause in their conversation to ask,

"Mel, would you like some more turkey?"

He looked down at his plate as if astonished to notice it was nearly empty. "I think I would, Jen," he said. "It's not Sally's turkey, but it's pretty good."

Trucker smiled, taking no offense. He still suspected Mel was afflicted by some sort of social cognitive disorder. Asperger's was his suspicion, but it wasn't like you could just ask someone if they had it. Mel seldom realized when his words might offend or hurt someone, though he was more than capable of becoming offended or hurt by someone else's words. Added to his dislike of anything out of routine and his lack of eye contact, Trucker thought Asperger's was a pretty good bet.

When Jen and Priestly began to clear the table against Sally's protests that she and Scooter could do it, Trucker waved her off. "Queen for a day, Sally," he said. "Let's go out and visit with Jetta before she figures out how to open the door."

Sally smiled at his running joke. Scooter nodded at them. "You guys go on. I'll be out in a minute…"

Once they were seated outside, Sally smiled sadly at him. "Trucker, I hate to tell you this today, but my doctor is strongly recommending that I retire." Her eyes brimmed with tears.

He leaned forward and took her hands. "Angel," he said, "the important thing is that you take care of yourself. You've done your time. It's time to smell some roses."

She nodded. "I'm going to miss you all so much," she said, squeezing his hands in return before releasing them to wipe at her eyes.

"Don't miss us," he said. "Visit us."

She nodded again. "Of course. But Scooter and I are going to make good on those threats of mine."

"Florida?" Trucker smiled wistfully.

Sally smiled in agreement. "We'll be listing the house early next year."

He made a face and put his hand over his heart. "I'm going to miss you, Angel. But you have to do it. You've wanted it for a long time, and you deserve to get what you want."

Sally's eyes watered again. "Stop," she said, dabbing at them. "You're too much, Trucker."

He turned his attention to Jetta, taking the tennis ball she offered with hopeful eyes and wagging tail and tossing it deep into the yard.

The others filtered out slowly, with Jen and Priestly bringing up the rear after packing away the leftovers into take home portions and rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. Jetta bounded toward Priestly instantly with a gleeful bark. He dropped to one knee, equally delighted, and dug his fingers into her fur, scratching vigorously.

"Oh, there's my girl," he cooed, giving the table a slightly abashed look and a small shrug. "You missed me, didn't you?"

Sally giggled. "She sure loves you, Priestly."

He gave her a sheepish grin. "What's not to love?"

Trucker watched him with the dog, amused. He'd been back to his old self mostly, with the exception of a few days after Sally's emergency. If there was anything good about Sally's health scare, it was the doubles Priestly was working. Trucker thought it pulled the kid out of himself, kept him from focusing too much attention on the many things that troubled him. Latimer hadn't reared its ugly head in a while, and Priestly seemed to be slowly making peace with his breakup with Jude. He was nearing an even keel if he wasn't quite there yet.

If there was a dark cloud, it was the friction between him and Joe. The double shifts Priestly worked put them in the same space for longer periods of time, and with the increased exposure to one another, their tempers grew shorter with each passing day. Since he was back to his old self, Priestly was no longer backing down as readily as he had been, and Joe clearly didn't like that. Joe seemed to provoke him sometimes, Trucker thought, deliberately poking at any tender spots. Like Jude. Like his father. Trucker wasn't often surprised by the hatred people could show toward one another. In the dark days he preferred not to think about, he'd seen plenty of evidence. But he was shocked by a reminder of it when the topic of Priestly's appearance came up one day.

"_The topic of the day is religious zealots who tell total strangers they're going to Hell for tattoing and piercing themselves," Priestly griped, ducking into the grill as thunder rolled outside._

_Trucker saw Joe roll his eyes. He glanced at Priestly and saw he'd noticed it._

"_Well," Mel said thoughtfully, his sub frozen inches from his mouth, "the Bible under Leviticus 19:28 says '_Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am the LORD'_"_

"_That was the Old Testament," Priestly told him. "If you subscribe to the Bible's teachings like these so-called Christians do, you know that Jesus died for our sins and wiped the Old Testament laws off the board. The old rules ceased to apply. The New Testament doesn't even mention tattoos or body piercings."_

_Mel appeared to think his words over. Trucker wondered if he had the Bible memorized because a few seconds later, he nodded. "That's true," he said._

"_You think God thinks it's okay for you to do that stuff?" Joe snapped. "Doesn't the Bible talk about the body being a temple or something like that? You think that's any way to treat a temple? Punching yourself full of holes and wearing ridiculous crap like that?" Joe gestured his way. "You should have listened to your dad. He was only trying to protect you, keep you from turning into a total freak." _

Trucker's mouth nearly dropped open. He made no move to stop Priestly from getting right up in Joe's face.

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about," Priestly warned, his voice low but dangerous. Joe looked at him with a smirk. "You say anything about my father again, I will put you on the floor. I'm not fucking kidding."

Trucker sighed. If he didn't find someone to fill Sally's spot soon, he'd be wiping up blood from the grill floor. And he wouldn't blame Priestly a bit.


	35. Beautiful

_March 15, 2005_

"Six, Truck," Priestly said wearily, flipping chicken breast strips on the grill that would get shaken in buffalo sauce and drizzled in bleu cheese dressing for the day's special.

"Really? That many?"

Priestly nodded. "Tina, Shannon, James, Mark, Danny, and Sonja."

Trucker frowned, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, guys. I don't know what else to do."

"Quit hiring flakes and junkies," Priestly replied, scooping the chicken meat into the tumbler and pouring in enough sauce to coat it before twisting the lid on the container and shaking vigorously. He was glad Joe was out sick, but he was also up to his ears in orders. Every time Jen cleared one from the system, another popped in.

Trucker just ladled soup into the take out containers and slapped lids on them. "Good suggestion." A moment later he said, "I used to be so good at hiring. Sally, Jen, you… What do you suppose went wrong?"

Priestly grinned at Trucker, pleased by the compliment. He shrugged. "Why did you hire Tina?"

"Because she needed a job and she looked normal enough," Trucker replied. "How was I to know she was completely racist?"

"And Shannon?" Priestly delivered the wrapped Buffalo subs to the front counter for Jen to pass on to their owners.

"She needed a job and she's Eddie's cousin," he said, referring to their regular, Eddie, who ate at the grill with his girlfriend, Diane, regularly.

"James?"

"He had a lot of energy. I thought we could use someone fast," Trucker said, referring to the reason he'd had to fire Shannon: she moved like an iceberg, no matter how busy they were.

Priestly rolled his neck along with his eyes on that one. "Energy, yes. Shooting meth in the men's room, no."

Trucker sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second.

"Mark?"

"Going to school, needed the extra cash."

"And got plenty snaking extra helpings from the tip jar," Jen offered, glancing back to meet Priestly's eyes.

Trucker stopped short. "You didn't tell me that."

Priestly shrugged. "I figured a quick goodbye conversation out back would convince him he didn't need to return." And because the guy started bawling the second Priestly shoved him against the bricks and confronted him over it, he figured it was possible the guy wasn't lying when he said he was about to get evicted from his apartment. He told him to keep what he had in his pockets but that if he ever came back, he'd personally put him in the wall.

Trucker smirked. "Did I promote you to hiring and firing?"

Priestly felt his face grow warm and ducked his head. "Sorry," he said, wrapping a couple Spicy Italians.

Trucker shrugged. "Leave that stuff to me, ok?"

"Yeah, man," he nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep. I just can't stand people who steal. Fucking selfish."

"Nah, man, that's cool. I'd have fired him, too. But you've got your hands full already with all the doubles. Let me take care of the details. And, you know, tell me when this stuff is going on. I don't like being in the dark about it and finding out later. You dig?" Trucker told him.

Priestly relaxed a little. He nodded. "I'm sorry, Truck. You're right. I should've said something."

Trucker just slapped his shoulder on the way to the back room to find more soup containers. When he came back out, he asked, "Anything I should know about Danny or Sonja?"

Priestly shook his head. "Nope. Danny got that corporate suck-up job he wanted. Did Sonja give you any reason why she quit after two weeks?"

Trucker tried to smother a grin. "She said she thought it would be more interesting than working for her brother at his plumbing fixture supply, but after a week of handling meat, she figured she'd rather talk toilets all day long for a year straight than work here."

Priestly laughed. "Vegetarian?"

Jen smirked. "I'm guessing," she said.

"Well, gang," Trucker said as he checked his watch, "we've got two more hours to go. Hang in there with me, and then I promise we can strategize about how to find someone clean, efficient, non-thieving, open-minded, with no other job offers."

"Deal," Priestly said, darting back to the grill to flip meat that was about to pass the point of perfection.

* * *

_March 22, 2005_

"Hey, Marty!" Priestly grinned across the counter at one of his favorite regulars. And from what he could see, she'd lost a great deal of weight. She lowered her coffee brown eyes to read his t-shirt, which read, _68. You owe me one._

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to cover her laughter. "Baby, you are such a goof. Always playin'."

He couldn't fight the corners of his own mouth from turning upward. "Hey, listen, we're having a send off party for Sally in here on Sunday. It should be a lot of fun. We're really pushing it with all you regulars." Priestly feigned a frown. "Except, Marty, you haven't been here so regularly lately. Would the fact that you are disappearing before my eyes have anything to do with it?" He pretended to measure her before framing her with his hands like a movie director.

She hooted. "Oh, you noticed. Yes, I've had to stay away from you all for a while. I can't control myself around these subs. Except I'm gonna learn to do it because I miss coming in here and hearing all the gossip. And to prove it, today you can make me that Tofurkey thing that's supposed to be like turkey. Just a little one. Like four inches. Go easy on the sugar in my tea, too. One teaspoon and one packet of lemon. No chips."

"Yes, ma'am Miss Marty," he nodded. When he brought her plate and her tea to the table she'd chosen, he said, "But seriously, Marty, you're looking good."

She grinned up at him. "Thank you," she said. "Now, what time will Miss Sally be here?"

He leaned down and looked around like there was a big secret. "Don't tell anyone I told you this. It's supposed to be regulars only…" Priestly smirked back at her as she played along, nodding. "Two o'clock."

She nodded. "I'll be here."

He winked at her and backed away from the table. As he returned to the grill area, Jen turned around and said,

"Can I ask you a favor, Priestly?"

Intrigued, he leaned over on his elbows next to her, his head bobbing. "I don't know. Can you?" he teased, remembering every grade school teacher he'd ever had with that little two word sentence. Jen reacted to them in much the same way.

Dryly, she said, "I think I can manage." Sitting up straighter, her face turned reluctant. "Will you meet me and my friends at Nickel Joe's Friday night?" She looked embarrassed and suddenly covered her face with her hands. "I can't believe I'm resorting to this."

Priestly stood back up. "Well, hey, if that's what it is to you, I–"

She blanched. "Priestly," she said quickly, putting her hand on his forearm, "I didn't mean it like that. It's–″

He laughed. "Relax, Jen," he teased, "I'm just joking. Yeah, I've got your back. What time?"

"They've got a live band, so, nine o'clock?"

He nodded and gave her a thumbs up and a wink. "I'll be there."

_March 25__th__, 2005_

Like all bars, Nickel Joe's was a dimly lit, loud, and crowded sort of place. The band, whose tacked up sign proclaimed them _Aqua Net Rising, _was just doing their sound check when Priestly wandered in. He saw Jen immediately, sitting hunched into a corner table by herself. She looked to be sipping an ice water. He rolled his eyes and headed straight for the bar.

The woman tending at the end he approached gave him a once over and a sexy smile. "Hi, Sugar. What would you like?" she asked, thrusting out her chest a little. He obliged her and gave it a look before meeting her eyes.

He blinked. "Uh, sorry," he grinned, shaking his head a little. "Got any Tequila Rose back there?"

She gave him a funny look and then looked over at the man at the opposite corner. "Hey, Mick! Tequila Rose?"

The man nodded and pointed to the top shelf. She followed his finger to the bottle, which was behind glass.

"I need a double shot of that and a Coke." He said, ignoring her eye roll. He tipped her, anyway, and headed off toward Jen. She was texting and didn't see him coming. "Hey, Jen," he said, hopping up onto the stool next to hers and spinning until he hit her knees with his own. He sat the shot down in front of her. "Time to lubricate," he said, sipping the Coke so she wouldn't think it was hers.

"I can't have that," she shook her head. "The others are bussing here. I'm supposed to take them home later."

He frowned. "Give me your keys," he ordered, holding his palm up. She gave him a look. He snapped his fingers. "Keys," he said again. When she reluctantly put them in his hand, he said, "Thanks. Drink up. You need one more after that, and then we'll see how it goes."

"What is it?" she asked, looking at the pink shot.

"Tastes like strawberry milk with a kick. You'll love it," he nodded at it as she picked it up.

"I don't know about that," she said dubiously. "I'm not much of a drinker. I mean, have a beer sometimes, but…" She took it as Priestly pressed it into her hand.

"C'mon, it's either that or I stick my tongue in your ear until you drink it." He stuck his tongue out in warning. She fought a smile. Wincing, she held her nose and put it back. When the liquid hit her mouth, she blinked. He watched her swallow and grinned. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Actually, no," she smiled. "Look, if I don't get a chance to tell you later, thanks."

He nodded. "Remember what I said, though."

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah."

"You can dance alone, too, if you don't want to ask anyone." He stood up. "I'm gonna go play pool for a little while. You with me?"

She shook her head. "Sherri just texted me. They're about three blocks from here, so the cab should be dropping them off any minute.

Priestly grabbed his Coke and wandered to the opposite corner of the bar. He found an open table and racked up the balls. Given how badly he sucked at the game, he figured he'd be able to play until the band started up at least and maybe even until someone was drunk enough to head out to the dance floor. In his experience, bands usually had to play a few songs from their first set before anyone was brave enough to venture out.

He was just about to break when he heard a voice behind him.

"Hey, man! What're you doing here?"

He looked over his shoulder. He stood up. "Mike," he nodded. He hadn't seen much of him since he told Jude not to come knocking. He wasn't sure whether he was just busy or whether he'd been avoiding him. Priestly had called a couple times to see if he wanted to hit Mojo's or Moe's, and he'd get a text back the next day apologizing for missing the call. Since he hadn't been able to afford classes that semester, he wasn't seeing him at the fitness center on campus, either.

"You playing with someone?" Mike looked around.

"No," he shook his head and glanced across the bar. Jen was smiling and laughing with her friends. He looked back up at Mike. "Want in?"

"Sure. Patrick and Kelly here? I mean, have you seen them?"

Priestly shook his head and gestured that Mike should break. A waitress stopped by, and she winked at them. Mike ordered a Guinness, and Priestly shook his head. As she left, Mike broke the table. Balls sailed in every direction, two of them sinking home.

"Man, that sucks. You get better the more you play. I don't."

Mike laughed. He missed his next shot, blaming it on Priestly's jab. "So, did you know Jude's not talking to me?"

Priestly just looked at him. How the hell would he know that?

Mike shrugged. "I told her she was being stupid. I told her everyone and his brother knows you're a couple, so get over your bullshit and just give it a real shot."

Priestly glanced up at him from the shot he was lining up. He said nothing, however, just took his shot.

"She hasn't called or anything?" Mike asked curiously. Priestly shook his head again, surprised that his shot had gone in. He tried to decide on his next shot. Mike seemed to consider his next words carefully. "I'm not going to say I told you so. I didn't want to be right."

Priestly missed. The band stopped with all the "check 1, check 2, check, check" business and started bantering with the crowd, welcoming them to the bar and introducing themselves as the "quintessential 80s hair band band, _Aqua Net Rising_. He glanced at Jen's table again. Still talking. Good. Jen was still smiling. Also good. No one was missing yet and no guys were at the table to flirt yet. All good.

Patrick and Kelly made their entrance, and Mike greeted them. Priestly nodded, exchanging hellos. He tried to scratch on his next turn. He wasn't in the mood to think about Jude, and the whole thing just felt stupid and awkward. He silently moaned when he missed the shot he was going for.

Mike cleared three more balls on his next pass, and Priestly tried the scratch again, this time succeeding. The fact that it actually looked natural was the amazing part. Patrick laughed. "Still no good, I see. But you're still no match for me," he added. "Want to give it a shot?"

"Nah, man. I came with someone, and she'll be wanting to dance soon." Priestly shook his hand and then slapped Mike's shoulder. "I can't get into the fitness center since I'm not enrolled this semester, but maybe we could knock each other around down on the beach sometime."

Mike nodded. "Catch you later, man."

Priestly nodded and made his way back to Jen's corner. Her friends all looked his way as Jen noticed him coming.

"There he is," she said. "Hey, Priestly, these are my friends. This is Sherri, this is Kate, and this is Samantha. Guys, this is my co-worker I was telling you about."

"Hi," he said, shaking hands with each girl. Sherri was tall and slender. She reminded him of a weird hybrid blend of Cameron Diaz and Catherine Zeta Jones…Cameron's eyes and Catherine's height and dark hair. Kate was shorter and cheerleader-ish with bouncy blonde hair and a bouncy personality to match. Samantha had short dark hair and dark eyes and seemed quieter but still friendly.

"Those are some serious mutton chops, Priestly," Sherri said, her eyes lit with amusement.

He lifted one shoulder. "Yeah. You like 'em?"

"There's something oddly sexy about them," she replied. "And I don't usually go for too much facial hair."

"That's true," Jen said. "Most of her boyfriends are smooth as a baby's butt."

Priestly grinned at her. "I'll be right back," he nodded to them. He returned to the bar, where the same girl as before waited on him. She was friendlier this time when he repeated his order.

"Is that your girlfriend you bought the drink for?" she asked, looking at him appreciatively again. Apparently, the thought that he was ordering the pink drink for himself was enough to put her off and have her making assumptions about him. Once they proved false, she did the 180 back to admiring him.

"Nope," he said flatly. He still tipped her, though he thought about not doing it.

Jen looked at him when he brought her the second Tequila Rose. That was all he intended to give her until he saw how she handled her booze.

"Ooooh," Kate said, eyeing the shot. "I'm going to go get one of those," she announced and disappeared.

Jen drank the second shot. Sherri gave him a smile but said nothing.

Two songs later, he grabbed Jen's hand. "Let's go dance." She froze. Resisted. He leaned close to her ear and said, "Jen, trust me. C'mon…"

"There's no one else out there," she said quietly, her eyes round.

"Look around the room," he urged, watching her eyes as she looked around. "Everybody's chair dancing. Everybody _wants_ to be out there, but they don't want to be the first. I guarantee you we won't be alone for long." He tugged her firmly behind him.

He halfway regretted it when he saw the genuine terror on her face, but it was too late to turn back, so he just started moving to Lita Ford's _Kiss Me Deadly_. He winked at her as, as predicted, several other people suddenly appeared on the dance floor. She started out stiff, but he saw her gradually relax a little as Sherri, Kate, and Samantha joined them.

The band went straight into another song before the crowd could disperse. A cheer went up from several members of the crowd as Sweet's _Ballroom Blitz _started. As the chorus came up, he put his arm across Jen's body, hooking it at her left hip, and guided her to turn with him before switching sides to spin her the other way. She wasn't a bad dancer, really, when she wasn't frozen by self-consciousness. Thankfully, the two double shots had done their job and she was feeling nice and relaxed. She grooved as well as anyone else out on the floor. Priestly grinned fondly at her and did a little air guitar, rolling his head on his shoulders.

After a couple more songs, the band slowed things down for a ballad. He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her and she shook her head, "I'm thirsty," she mouthed. He nodded and followed her off the floor. She stopped at the bar. He started to follow, but he saw a guy in a black t-shirt and jeans say something to her, so he went to the table, instead.

Sherri and Samantha were there. Kate, it appeared, had accepted an invitation to dance and was still on the floor.

"You're awesome, Priestly," Sherri said, carefully watching the bar to see if Jen was headed back. He just looked at her. "I can't get her to dance usually until the second or third set."

"Seriously," Samantha said, nodding. "You must be, like, magic or something."

He just lifted one shoulder and grinned, sucking down his Coke as Jen came back with a glass of something that looked suspiciously like water. "Jen…" he said watching her suck greedily at the liquid. "It's too early to switch to water."

She smirked at him. "I'm thirsty. I'll have a beer later."

They sat out for a few songs before GNR's _Paradise City _came on and Sherri grabbed Jen's hand with a whoop. When she didn't even look back at him for help, Priestly hung back to watch what would happen. What happened is the guy in the black shirt and a couple other guys circled Jen and Sherri and they all grooved together. He didn't want to mess that up, so he stayed at the table for a few songs, then joined them for the next several after that.

When the band took a break, the crowd wandered back to tables and the bar. Priestly was feeling the effects of too many Cokes. When he left the men's room he glanced over at their table and saw black shirt guy leaning over, talking in Jen's ear while another guy in a blue shirt chatted up Sherri. Kate and Samantha were nowhere in sight, so he figured they had gone to the bathroom together the way women did.

He saw Mike, Patrick, and Kelly sitting at a table near the pool tables. They saw, him, too, so he stopped to say hello again and check in on them.

"Who's your friend?" Kelly asked.

"What friend?"

"The one you've been dancing with. The girl in the blue shirt."

"Jen. I work with her."

"You dating?" Kelly asked.

He shrugged. "Why?"

She gave him an odd look. "No reason," she said. "Just curious."

"She's just a friend," he acknowledged warily.

"Well, I think she's upset. She just went outside. She was walking pretty quickly. Or maybe she's sick," Kelly said.

Priestly turned to look at the table. Samantha and Kate had returned and were talking to the two guys and now Sherri was gone. And Jen was gone. He nodded back at them. "Guess I'd better go find out what's up."

Mike and Patrick nodded at him. He nodded back and squeezed Kelly's shoulder. He pushed his way out the door and searched out Jen, who stood dejectedly against a pillar just outside the door.

"Whatcha doing out here?" he asked lightly, pointing over his shoulder into the bar, "The fun's in there."

She glanced at him. Her eyes glittered in the darkness. "I'm getting tired. We should go soon," she said dully.

He waited. "What's really going on, Jen? You were having fun in there."

She shrugged.

He came to lean against the post beside her. "What?" he nudged her gently.

"I thought he, you know. I thought he liked me."

"Who?"

She shrugged. "Tony. The guy in the black shirt."

"He's been dancing with you half the night," Priestly shrugged. "I'd say he likes you."

She glanced up at him glumly and then looked away. "I meant I thought he was interested in me. And then he asked me if Sherri was seeing anyone."

"Maybe he's asking for that guy in the blue shirt who's been hanging all over her," Priestly suggested.

Jen shook her head. "He asked me what she's into, what she likes in a guy. Like I'm her personal secretary or something."

He put his arm around her. "Okay, so he's a dick who can't see what's right in front of him. Don't use that as an excuse to go back in your shell, turtle. Life is good out here, too. Seriously. You don't give yourself enough credit, Jen. Just because one guy isn't into you doesn't mean they're all like that."

"Sure," she said, but he knew she didn't agree with him at all.

"Jen, let's go back inside. I think the band's about ready to start up again." He used the arm he had around her to tug her free from the pillar.

"I'd really rather just call it a night," she said. "Let's go in and gather up the girls."

"Nope," he shook his head. "We're not leaving until at least midnight."

"Priestly," she ducked out from under his arm. "You can't just…just…" She searched for words. "You can't just pressure me into doing what you want."

"What? If I didn't pressure you a little, you'd still be sitting at the table waiting to dance." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Jen, I offered to come out with you because I knew I could push you to get outside yourself. And you took me up on it because you knew I could, too. So how about I do what I'm supposed to do and drag your ass inside and onto the dance floor and eventually, you'll be able to do this all on your own and won't need me anymore, and I'll sit at home alone on Friday nights instead of hanging out with my buddy, Jen."

She smirked. "Look, I know you don't understand how I feel. You're outgoing and…outrageous and everyone loves you because you _are _outrageous, and I'm none of those things. You don't–"

"If you say 'you don't understand' or put yourself down again, I'm going to grab your ass and start grinding on you on the dance floor," Priestly threatened darkly. "In front of everybody," he added.

Jen's eyes widened in surprise. He figured he'd at least shocked her into silence for a little while. When he pulled her out on the dance floor, he gave her a look that said he meant what he said. She smiled and she danced, and he didn't hear a negative peep out of her for the rest of the night. They didn't leave until the lights came on for last call.


	36. Hello, Goodbye

**_A/N: Don't own TIH. You know the drill._**

* * *

_March 26, 2005_

In the car, as he dropped the last of her friends off at a little apartment complex, Jen gave him a sheepish smile. "Thanks for not letting me leave, Priestly."

He grinned at her, watching for Samantha's door to close before edging through the parking lot toward the exit. "Sure. That's the arrangement, right?"

"Wellll," she said, "that wasn't quite what I had in mind, actually, but it was probably for my own good."

"It was definitely for your own good." He glanced at her. "Seriously, Jen, you need to get out there and boogie and just let your light shine."

She smirked. "That sounds like my Sunday school teacher when I was nine."

He shrugged and rolled down the window. "Where's your place?"

"Haven't you been there?" she frowned.

"I've been to your storage unit. You don't live there, I hope." He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"No," she giggled.

"So, where are you?"

She gave him directions. It wasn't far from Samantha's place, but he realized with some dismay it was a pretty good hike from any of the bus lines.

"Jen? You mind if I crash on your couch?"

She shook her head. "No. I can drop you off at your place tomorrow morning so you can change for work."

Her place was clean but a little cluttered with evidence of her classes at school. Photos of family and friends marched all over the walls. He saw the piano, an old upright, tucked in the area where a dining room table was supposed to go. He looked at it longingly. He hadn't played in forever. It was the one thing about waiting around for church he liked. Except whenever his father caught him playing anything secular, he'd get the riot act. He didn't like that. Jen caught him looking at it and grinned sheepishly.

"I know," she said from behind him. "I'm a nerd. I love playing piano." She handed him a pillow and blanket. "Do you need something to drink? Are you hungry?" she asked, pointing toward the kitchen.

He shook his head. "I could use the bathroom, though."

When he emerged a few minutes later, she asked if he needed anything else. He shook his head. "Night, Jen."

"Goodnight, Priestly. Thanks again."

"It was fun," he nodded. "Let's do it again sometime."

When he woke up the next morning to brilliant sunlight streaming through the barely covered windows, he thought he heard an engine. Priestly sat up, glancing at the door, wondering if the sound of it closing had woken him. He padded into the bathroom, and then he peeked in the open door to her room. No one.

He found her note on the kitchen counter:

_I'll be right back. I'm just getting breakfast. Jen_

He stretched and wandered back to the sofa, folding the blanket. The piano seemed to stare at him, beckon to him. He glanced at the closed front door, then back at the piano. He felt like he was stealing from the offering tray, but he gently lifted the closed cover to expose the keys. He tried a couple. It was in tune. He should have known, the way Jen talked.

He fiddled a little, just enjoying the sound of his fingers over the keys again, but then he settled on a song. One of his favorites. Something his father would holler at him for. He glanced over his shoulder again at the door. Still closed. He began to play, then tried his sleepy voice.

_"I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?..."_

He let the music carry him, even though he knew exactly who it would carry him to. He knew why the song had occurred to him. It was inevitable, after talking to Mike the other night. He'd let himself have this, and then he'd put it back away.

_"And remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving, too, and every breath we drew was Hallelujah…"_

He got wrapped up in the song. He'd been listening hard for the door, but when he hit the last note, he jumped at the sound of Jen's voice behind him.

"Wow, Priestly," she said quietly, shutting the door behind her. "I didn't know you could play. Or sing."

He eased the lid back down over the keys and got up. "Is that breakfast? I'm starved," he said.

Jen held the bag out of his reach. "You're blushing," she laughed, moving the bag again as he reached for it. "I can't believe you're blushing."

He stopped reaching for the bag. "I was trying to listen for you to come back. You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Why not?" she asked, ducking past him for the kitchen. "It was good. You should be out working at a piano bar or something."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Can you see this," he gestured up and down his body, "working at a place like that?"

Jen shrugged. "You could."

"What about you? You play. You could do the same thing."

"I play for my church sometimes, if they need a back up. I don't play for money." She shook her head.

"Well," Priestly said, taking the breakfast sandwich she offered, "neither do I."

They sat on the sofa just talking about nothing in particular. Jen kept trying to ask him about the piano playing, where it came from, how long he'd been playing, but he just changed over to her. How long had she lived in this apartment? How much longer was she in school? Would she be the next to leave the grill?

"Please say no to that," he added, "even if it's a lie."

"I'm not going anywhere any time soon," she assured him. "Trucker's very accommodating with the schedule, and I like it there. And it's not a lie."

He grinned. "Yeah, Trucker sort of grows on you, right?"

She smiled. "I like the whole place. All the regulars, even the crowds. And even you," she teased.

He grinned and finished the last of his sandwich. Jen just cocked her head at him and wondered, "Who are you really, Priestly?"

He shrugged. "I'll never tell."

* * *

_March 27, 2005. Sally's going away party._

The whole place was a mad house. Sally and Scooter were in the last booth. She was dwarfed by the enormous, gaudy crown Trucker insisted she wear. So that they could all enjoy the party, Trucker had them build a few 6' subs with just meat and cheese and prep a separate "fixings" bar on ice along the blank back wall. They took turns making rounds in the dining room for drink orders and seconds on the subs. Very few people came in that weren't regulars, and everyone seemed content to pay the $15 "all you can eat and drink" cover charge at the door.

"Sal," Priestly stopped by with a pitcher of tea. "Refill?"

"Oh, no," she shook her head. "I'm gonna float away."

"Scooter?" he asked, waggling the pitcher. When Scooter held up his glass, he filled it.

He listened to bits of conversation all around him, people reminiscing about Sally, about the grill, about the neighborhood. Tim Stabler popped in from Washington, which made Sally tear up for about the millionth time. He looked across the street at his old boarded up building, still waiting for a renter, and looked a little wistful for a moment. Priestly saw Trucker wander over and chat with him, though, so he knew Tim would be laughing again at any moment.

People he'd never seen in the shop came in and were recognized by Sally and Trucker as long lost regulars. Marty came by with her husband, which surprised Priestly. He hadn't realized she was married. Lucille and Mr. Julius stopped by, choosing to sit together due to the crowd in the dining room. Eddie and Diane took the other side of the booth across from them. Priestly was amused at the bizarre mix of people who came in and drifted out again. People Sally affected over the years to the point they wanted to say goodbye to her.

At about four, Priestly took his break and crouched down next to Sally. "Sal, I'm really going to miss you," he said.

She smiled at him and cupped his face with her hands. "I'll miss you, too, Priestly. You've made me laugh at least once every time I had a shift with you." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and then she smiled and stroked his mutton chops. "You get more you, Priestly, every time I see you. What's this crazy facial hair about?"

He shrugged and just grinned at her. Just then, Trucker nodded at Priestly. Priestly, smirking at Sally, scooted backward in his chair and then stood up on it and called out,

"YO! Everybody listen up!"

When most all the eyes in the room were on his, including Sally's curious ones, he smiled down at her. "We're going to play a fun little game I like to call, 'Who knows Sally best?'" He held up his hands as people began to chatter and laugh. "There's a genuinely awesome prize for whoever wins this game, so it has to really be fair. If you think you know an answer, put your hand up, old school style. There are only five questions, so if nobody gets more than one, the names will go into a drawing to decide the winner." He waited a beat, then said, "If you know Sally like _I _know Sally, you can tell me what Sally says if a customer sneezes…"

Several hands shot up. Priestly cocked an eyebrow down at Jen. He almost burst out laughing as she nodded at the head construction guy and said, "Michael?"

"Sneeze once for a wish, twice for a kiss, three for a lettah, four for something bettah." His Boston accent made his buddies laugh and shove him.

"Nice," Priestly said. Jen recorded his name on her order pad. "If you know Sally like _I _know Sally, you can tell me what Sally thinks of people using cell phones while they're with other people..."

Jen pointed to Diane. "Rudest. Thing. Ever!" Diane called, mimicking Sally's voice.

Eddie joined Sally as she held up her hands and said, "Unless it's an emergency!"

The entire restaurant broke into laughter as Eddie mirrored her, right down to her 'hands up' gesture.

Priestly nodded and chuckled, "You should get bonus points for that, man. Classic!" He waited until the chatter died down. "If you know Sally like _I _know Sally, you can tell me three things that Sally just can't say correctly to save her life."

"Mel?" Jen asked.

"Coupon, mayonnaise, and library."

"What?" Sally joked. "Liberry! What?!" she giggled.

Priestly cringed like someone was running their fingers down a chalkboard. Sally laughed and chanted it. "Liberry! Liberry! Liberry!" He pretended to swoon and dropped flat on the floor. And then he wiggled around like he was in his death throes as she added, "Kewpin! Manaise!"

Good natured laughter filled the room. He poked his head up and saw Sally blushing, covering her cheeks with her hands. But she was smiling, so he knew she was having a good time. He climbed back on the chair. "If you know Sally like _I _know Sally," he said, "you know Sally's favorite breakfast."

Eddie's hand shot up. Jen pointed at him. "Cinnamon toast, bacon, and grape juice!"

Priestly looked at Sally, horrified. "Together?"

Sally blushed again and nodded.

He shook his head and shuddered. "Ok. Last one. If you know Sally like I'm starting to think I _don't _know Sally," he cracked, "what one thing does she always ask for for Christmas besides world peace?"

The room went still for a moment as people clearly tried to think of it, think back to the holidays and to the light hearted exchange of wish lists and cheer. A tentative hand went up.

"Diane?" Jen nodded.

"A cruise to the Bahamas?" Diane asked.

Priestly nodded. "That's right. A cruise to the Bahamas." He glanced at Jen, "Diane?" he asked. Jen nodded. "Ok, so Diane wins the very cool, first ever brand new BCG twelve free Sally subs card!" When the clapping died down, he said, "You might be wondering what a Sally sub is. Well, I'll tell you. It's a cinnamon, bacon and grape jelly sub." He waited a beat, then waved it away with his hand. "No, God, I'm just kidding. It's a brand new Sally creation: turkey with bacon, avocado, and ranch dressing. Hot or cold. So, twelve Sallys for Diane. Congrats!" He stepped back down from the chair, slipping his hands behind his back for Jen to put the wrapped present in them, and then approached Sally and Scooter's booth. "This is for you, Sally, from me and Jen and Joe and Trucker and all of the people in this room today and a lot of the random customers who've been in since you left us…"

She started crying as she opened the envelope first, pulling the Royal Caribbean itinerary from inside it. Her smile lit up the room, though, and the applause and the oohing and ahhing went on for several seconds before Sally hopped up and put her arms around Priestly first, because he was closest.

"I love you, Sal," he told her softly, next to her ear so that only she could hear, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"I love you, too, Priestly," she said, equally softly. "Promise me you'll come down to Florida and see me and Scoot and Jetta sometime."

He nodded and ducked away to resume food and drink rounds as she moved on to hug Jen, Joe, and Trucker. He listened to the sounds of her flipping through the scrapbook. He'd taken most of the pictures, just shots of all of them and all of the regulars with little sentiment cards pasted under each one. Jen did the girly thing and arranged everything in a blank scrapbook with all sorts of papery doodads and stickers and little bits she called "embellishments". From the sound of it, Sally loved it.

He hated the reality that Sally was going to walk out of the Beach City Grill that night for the last time for a very long time at least, if not forever. He already missed her, and she wasn't even gone yet. He kept his head down as he moved farther away from the noise of the dining room, gathering the trash for a quick break out back.

* * *

_April 10, 2005_

Priestly heard the door open and hoped Trucker was still out front to greet whoever it was that just walked in. He filled clean meat trays for the cold station and the produce trays as well. When he stepped out into the front with the two trays balanced on either arm, he caught sight of a girl standing by the register.

_Goth,_ he thought, taking in her dyed black Bettie Page hair. She was pale and wore the black lipstick and black fingernail polish and head to toe black. And she was pointing behind herself to the sign at the door. He grinned. Maybe he could finally get off doubles. He'd work them for the rest of the year if he had to, but he was hoping he had saved enough that he could take a couple classes again in the fall.

"Shawnna," she said, shaking Trucker's hand as Joe walked in the door.

Priestly sighed inwardly as Joe frowned at the sight of him. He almost wanted to laugh. The guy reacted the same way every freaking day as if Priestly was something new. Instead of focusing on Joe, he asked,

"You going to interview her, Truck?"

Trucker grinned his way as Shawnna turned her heavily blackened eyes toward him. Trucker gestured, "That's Priestly. And the other guy is Joe."

Joe, who had started setting up the grill, lifted his hand. Priestly nodded at her.

"What time of day are you available?" Trucker asked.

She shrugged. "Name a time. I'll be here."

"Elvis…" Priestly said, watching her closely. "Dead or alive?"

She smirked and quoted Men in Black. "Elvis isn't dead. He just went home."

He nodded appreciatively. "Right on."

Trucker cocked his head. "Food handler's card?"

She nodded. "I've done this stuff before." She fished her card out of her little black purse.

"Why'd you leave your last job?" Priestly asked, earning a look from Trucker. He shut up and just grabbed a towel and the cleaner and wiped down the already clean front counter.

"I got tired of guys grabbing my ass," she answered flatly. "I was over at Tim G's on seventh," she explained. "Cocktail waitress. Good money, but the daily sexual assault was getting old."

Trucker chuckled. "I need someone to work ten to six. Five days a week, Mondays and another day off. It won't always be the same day. Sound like something you can handle?"

She smiled. "Definitely."

Trucker glanced at him. "Can you start Tuesday?"

Her smile grew wider. "Absolutely."

* * *

_April 12, 2005_

"Helllllo!" Priestly stood in the doorway of the grill, just looking around. Things seemed pretty calm. It felt good to come in at three for the first time in what felt like forever.

Relaxing a little, he continued inside. Shawnna appeared from the back room with more sub rolls. Joe grinned at her. And then he gave Priestly a dark look that irritated the hell out him. Priestly said nothing, however.

"Hey, Lucille," he greeted, chucking Bam Bam under his little chin. As always, the dog shook like he had Parkinson's. But he licked Priestly's hand.

"Hi, Priestly." Lucille's eyes flicked to his shirt from her book. _Don't make me poison your food._ She laughed. "You better not."

He grinned, cocking an eyebrow down at himself. "Never. But the threat might do wonders for tips, you think?"

She laughed and went back to her book. He patted Bam Bam again and said, "Later, Bams."

Trucker looked up at him from the back booth. He tried not to smile at the shirt. He sometimes tried to be stern about them, about the inappropriateness. But in the end, Priestly knew, he secretly liked them and thought they were funny. "I hope the health inspector doesn't come when you're wearing that," was all he said.

When Priestly came out to the floor, tying his apron, Shawnna eyed his shirt and smiled. Joe rolled his eyes and muttered something Priestly didn't quite catch.

"What was that, Josie?" he asked, cupping his hand near his ear. Joe just shot him a dirty look and didn't answer. Shawnna watched with ambivalence. "So, how do you like it so far?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "So far, so good."

The laptop beeped. Priestly leaned over to look at it. "Two six inch Spicy Italians, cold."

Shawnna moved to get them started. Priestly went out to the floor to make rounds, not knowing what else to do with himself as Jen walked in to start her shift.

Joe and Shawnna were just about off for the day when the door swung open and a slender girl wearing grey wool pants and a tiny faded blue t-shirt advertising Triumph cycles came in. Her hair was a sleek, jet-black style that angled down toward her face in the front and was shorter in the back. She had a nose ring, a ring on every finger, and several chains and bracelets. She glanced at Priestly's shirt and smiled at him.

"Is Shawnna in here?" she asked.

"Who are you?" he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting up.

"I'm her sister, Lainey."

"Hey, Lainey," he said lazily, glancing at Jen as the laptop as it beeped. "I'm Priestly."

She nodded. "I like your hair."

He glanced up toward it as if he could see it. His Mohawk was blue and set in a double row of liberty spikes. "Thanks," he said. And then he glanced out the window and back at her. "Is that your car out front?"

"Yeah, why?" she asked. A second later she was swearing and darting out the door to move the ancient AMC Spirit, pleading with a motorcycle cop not to ticket her.

"We need a Sally and a Maui Jim," Jen said. "Cold and hot."

He was just wrapping the Sally sub, thinking about how naming a sandwich after Sally may not have been the best idea, when Lainey returned, ticketless. Priestly grinned. "You work some feminine magic on him or what?"

She shook her head. "No. It's amazing how motorcycle cops respond to my shirt, though," she said, grinning down at it. Priestly wondered if it was the motorcycle ad or her boobs. Glancing surreptitiously at them, he thought it was probably a mixture of both. She looked up as Shawnna clomped back in front, her heavy goth boots announcing her arrival. "Ready?"

Shawnna nodded and grabbed her purse from under the counter. "See ya, Priestly. Jen. Bye, Joe." She held up her hand. Lainey turned and looked at him as Shawnna headed out the door. She smiled at him and ducked out.

Priestly watched her go. Joe shoved past him with a glare and called out a goodbye to Trucker, who was in the back room trying to tame the Beast. Jen smirked at him.

"I think you have a fan," Jen teased.

He shrugged. "She was cute."

Jen's grin grew wider. "So, it's mutual."

He snapped her with his bar towel as the door swung open and a few customers entered.

* * *

_May 1, 2005_

"May day! May day!" Priestly called, bursting into the shop. Shawnna was at the laptop since Jen was off. She smirked up at him.

Trucker smiled from the register, where he paused with his fingers over the adding machine.

"Priestly," Shawnna said, "settle a bet. Who sings that song that goes, 'Yeah, here comes the water, it comes to wash away the sins of you and I...'?"

"Velvet Revolver. Slither." He slid past her toward the back room. On the way back, tying his apron, he asked, "What was the bet?"

She sighed. "It doesn't matter. I lost." She had her cell phone in her hand and was texting someone. She finished the text and tossed the phone into her purse.

Nearly three hours later, Lainey came in. Priestly turned around and grinned at her. "Hey, Lainey."

"Hi. Can I get a 6" Philly Cheesesteak?"

He nodded. "Onions?"

"That depends," she said.

"Depends?" he asked, eyebrows lifting. "On what?"

"On whether you want to catch a movie or something with me after work."

Priestly glanced at Shawnna, who stared at the laptop, and then back at Lainey. "I don't get off until 9:30."

"So, no onions, then," Lainey smiled. "I'll see you at 9:30."

"Okay," he said, turning back to the grill. Joe was already in back stowing his apron and getting ready to leave for the day, so he started the sandwich. He glanced at Shawnna, saw her jerky movements as she checked the laptop one last time for orders. He wondered what he'd missed as she headed off toward the bathrooms.

A few minutes later, when he gave Lainey the wrapped sandwich, Shawnna nowhere in sight, Lainey winked at him and said, "See you at 9:30."

Priestly watched her go, until she was out the door and disappearing around the corner and past the side window. Trucker, on his way to the back room, slapped his shoulder and said,

"Watch out for that one. She seems feisty."

He nodded. "That's how I like them."


	37. Jumper

**_A/N: yeah. yeah. TIH= not mine. This chapter goes off the rails a little. _**

* * *

_June 5, 2005_

"Lainey," Priestly murmured, chuckling. She ignored him, continuing to kiss him. He glanced again at the clock on her night stand, just to make sure he'd read it right the first time. With a sigh, he ducked out from under her. She made a face at him.

"Buzz kill," she said.

"I know," he nodded, "but I have to go to work." He began pulling on yesterday's clothes. "And," he sighed again, "they don't like me to wear the same clothes two days in a row."

"Nobody would notice," she said pleadingly, but she got up, too.

He grinned at her. "Actually, they would. The regulars would," he corrected. "They like seeing what my shirts say every day. It's sort of a thing now."

She locked her arms around him from behind, running her hand up and down his chest for a moment before trying to dip past his waistband. He saw her reflection looking at him in the mirror, her grey-green eyes appearing smoky and mysterious under the heavy liner she wore. But there was no mystery in her actions.

"Hey!" he laughed, twisting out of her arms. "C'mon," he said, grabbing his shirt before she could get to it and play keep away. He liked her playful side, but sometimes she didn't know when to quit. He'd nearly been late as many times in the last two weeks than he had fingers on both hands.

The other dark side was that Shawnna clearly didn't like him dating her sister. She'd gone from friendly to neutral to just barely civil. He released a sigh as Lainey gave up and left the room. The sisters had an odd relationship, so far as he could tell. They seemed to text each other a lot, which made them appear close. But when they were in the same room together, they seemed competitive and annoyed by each other. Maybe it was just because he was an only child. Maybe he didn't really get the whole sibling thing, Sally's teasing about him and Jen aside.

He sat on the bed to pull on his boots. Lainey darted back into the bedroom for her own shoes and to smooth down her hair at the dresser mirror. Her reflection smiled at him as she rubbed on the sexy, vampy red lipstick he liked. The same lipstick he didn't like being caught wearing.

"Oh, no, you don't," he laughed, ducking away as she tried to leave her mark on him. She just grinned back and gave up.

"You're no fun today," she teased. He could tell she didn't really mean it. Grudgingly, she grabbed her keys off the dresser. "You want to drive?"

Priestly took the keys. He liked her car. He liked driving a stick shift even though it was a lot of work in the city. He wondered if he might be able to get a two day weekend off of Trucker soon, maybe talk Lainey into going to San Diego for an overnight.

He stopped home to wash up and change clothes. Lainey tried to delay him again. He let her, for a couple minutes. Not long enough to satisfy her or himself, really, but long enough to make him hurry to re-spike his hair and carefully put fresh shorts on without taking off his boots first.

Dark descended as he made his way into the grill and Shawnna caught sight of him giving Lainey a quick kiss on the forehead before ducking out of range of her bright red lips again. Shawnna gave him dagger eyes. He ignored them and made his way, as usual, through the dining room.

Joe rolled his eyes at Priestly's shirt: _It's ok if you disagree with me. I can't force you to be right. _Shawnna joined him.

"Hardly," she said cryptically, as if he didn't know what she was referring to. Priestly was glad when Jen came in. A friendly face was always good, and Trucker was nowhere to be found.

"Trucker on a supply run?" he asked Jen, tying his apron.

She shook her head. "Surfing, I think," she said absently, working on homework for her summer class while listening for the _ding!_ that would signal an order coming through.

He bussed the dining room, chatting with the regulars, cleaning up tables, and delivering eat in orders to avoid Shawnna's dirty looks. Priestly was relieved when Trucker came in. Shawnna, unlike Joe, made an effort to disguise her dislike of him whenever Trucker was around. It made her easier to be around, even if it was faked.

Priestly liked it even better when six o'clock rolled around and Joe and Shawnna left. Lainey picked her up most days, which he didn't understand because normally they didn't seem too thrilled to see one another. Shawnna often snapped at her or rolled her eyes if Lainey stopped to talk to Priestly. God forbid she kiss him.

That night, Priestly managed to take his first break when he saw Lainey park her car on the side street around the corner from the grill. He ducked out the door to meet her, ignoring Shawnna's narrowed eyes.

Lainey smiled at him, no longer wearing her red lipstick. Her eyes were still smoky, though. She slid her arms around him as he pinned her against the driver's side door. "What's the deal with your sister?" he asked.

She just looked at him and then looked away.

"Lainey?"

She met his eyes. "What about her?"

"She doesn't like us going out." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A fact.

Lainey shrugged. "Shawnna doesn't like anyone I go out with. She's messed up," Lainey shrugged.

"Messed up how?"

Lainey sighed. "Messed up as in our dad took off when we were little and our mom raised us all by herself. Mom was bitter and pissed off and took every possible opportunity to tell us men suck, men do nothing but let you down, they cheat, they lie, they're evil."

He rubbed her shoulders as she met his eyes. They looked jaded now, less mysterious. "Why don't you have that going on, if you grew up in the same house?"

She shrugged. "I guess I just got to see mom happy longer than she did."

"Wait…you're older?" he blinked.

The corner of her mouth quirked up and she socked him only half playfully in the stomach. "You thought I was her little sister?"

He lifted one shoulder. "Yeah. She's so serious all the time. Makes her seem older, I guess."

Lainey smiled. "She's eighteen. I'm twenty-two."

He grinned as she captured his mouth to shut him up. He let her practice the distraction until he started to grow a little too warm. He broke the contact and sighed. "So, what? Is she a lesbian, then? I mean, if she doesn't trust guys, does she play for the other team?"

Lainey's mouth dropped and she laughed harshly. "I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

He nodded. "Ok, I will." He moved toward the building and she laughed and stopped him.

"Priestly," she giggled. "You can't really ask her that."

"Why not? You told me to ask her," he teased. Changing the subject, he asked, "Why do you pick her up almost every day? You two don't seem like you really like each other all that much."

Just the slightest edge of irritation began to creep into her voice. "What's the 20 questions about Shawnna all about?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

"Well," she drawled, sliding her arms around his waist again, "I don't exactly want to talk about my sister while I'm kissing my boyfriend, so could you just drop it?"

"It's just a question," he shook his head, stepping back. "What's the big deal?"

"You got a hard on for her or something?" Lainey asked accusingly.

"What?" he held up his hands. "No. God."

Lainey sighed and looked up at the sky. "Fuuuuck," she moaned. "Ok. Fine. Shawnna's who she is. I don't know why except what I told you, and that's just a guess. I pick her up because my mom pays for my car insurance and my gas and in exchange she expects me to shuttle little baby Shawnna all over town. Okay? Is the Spanish Inquisition finished, or do you have a big warehouse with a bright light you'd like to escort me to?"

Priestly fought the corners of his mouth. He wanted to be pissed at her for her attitude, but her sarcasm made it impossible. He kissed her deeply, which appeared to smooth out the wrinkles of her irritation. As he lifted his head, knowing he was probably running past his fifteen minutes, he saw Shawnna leaning against the building, watching them disinterestedly while texting someone on her phone.

As he passed her on his way inside, he said goodnight to her just to be nice. She looked up at his eyes, gave him a little smile, and moved toward Lainey's car.

* * *

_June 8, 2005_

Priestly felt a little bit like he'd fallen into an alternate universe as he walked into the grill on Thursday. Shawnna looked up at him from the middle of the dining room floor where she was mopping what appeared to be a spilled soda.

"Hi," she said with a little smile.

"Hi," he said slowly, almost having to force himself not to turn around to see if she was actually talking to someone behind him.

"How's it goin'?" she asked.

"It's…going," he answered helplessly, still confused. He was so taken off guard he didn't stop to talk to Lucille on his way to the back room.

Joe was confused by it, too. He was used to Shawnna's silent agreement with him on Priestly. Together, they hated him. Joe in his obvious way, Shawnna in her passive aggressive way. And Joe was very clearly confused by Shawnna's new stance on Priestly. Priestly found it highly amusing and kept intentionally meeting Joe's eyes instead of ignoring him.

Shawnna, though, bothered him. He didn't understand her sudden reversal. He felt a little like the floor was about to drop out from under his feet. Not that he wanted her to go back to hating him. It was much easier around the grill with her in friendly mode. It was just that he didn't know where it was coming from or why, so underneath the acceptance was a distinct uneasy feeling.

Trucker noticed. When Priestly headed into the sub zero for more chicken, Trucker asked him quietly, "What's the deal with Shawnna?"

His eyes widened. "Your fucking guess, Trucker…" He left the rest of it unsaid, shaking his head.

As Shawnna cycled about the end of her work day, she found little reasons to interact with him. When he took the grill while Joe went on break, he reached past her for various bottles of dressings. She saw his forearm, asked what the tattoo meant. When he told her, she looked up at him with eyes similar to her sister's.

"Honor, strength, loyalty," she repeated. "That's cool."

"Better than _fuck it all,_ I guess," he joked.

She laughed like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. He glanced over her head at Trucker, who shook his head, baffled. He turned his attention back to the grill, more uneasy than before.

She started finding ways to touch him. She'd brush past him in tight spaces when there was really no need to do so. She'd make a casual remark and in doing so, run her hand over his bicep. It got to the point where his relief at the sudden disappearance of her dislike turned to wishing she'd go back to passive aggression.

Once Lainey picked her up and Joe took off, Jen turned to him from the laptop.

"What on earth was that all about?" she asked.

He threw up his hands, shaking his head. "You got me. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone or something."

Trucker chuckled. "You haven't learned yet that women can just run hot and cold on a regular basis with no explanation?"

Priestly frowned. "Not like that, I haven't. That was seriously weird, right?"

Jen nodded. "And you have no idea where it came from?"

"None," he agreed, waiting for her to tell him the order as the laptop beeped one through.

"Ten inch Max Meat," she obliged. "Everything but lettuce and tomato."

He nodded and turned back to the grill.

* * *

_June 10, 2005_

It only got weirder on Saturday when Priestly agreed to work Joe's shift after he called in sick. The same stuff continued: the finding excuses to touch him, the chatting him up, the smiles and the…flirting. At least Priestly thought it was flirting. Shawnna's brand of it was awkward, as if she'd never done it before. Like when she asked him to get more plates down from the upper shelf because they were too busy for any of them to find time to wash the dirties. As he pulled a stack down, she said,

"You're really cut. I bet you work out a lot, huh?"

He just looked at her, so she said to herself,

"Yeah, you do. You work out a lot. I'd like to see you without your shirt on."

He blinked and shook his head and put his focus 100% on the grill.

When Lainey came to visit him at lunch, he said,

"Hey, I'm sick of this place. Why don't we go eat some pizza or something?" As soon as they were in her car, he told her, "Your sister's creeping me out."

Lainey smirked his way. "Why? What do you mean?"

"One second she can't stand me, won't talk to me unless she has to, and avoids me like the plague. And then yesterday all of a sudden she's smiling and me and trying to flirt with me and she's always finding reasons to touch me. What the fuck is going on? Did she say anything to you?"

Lainey shook her head. "We don't exactly cuddle up and talk. I pick her ass up because if I don't my mom won't pay for my car. I drive her around, I drop her off. I don't hang out with her. You know that. You're the one that gave me the twenty questions, remember?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "I remember."

She parked at Lulu's Pizza and Wings. "Let's get it to go."

He lifted a brow at her but didn't argue. Lulu's sold whole pies as well as by the slice, so they each ordered two slices and a drink to go. Lainey drove them to West Cliff. They ate sitting in the back seat of her car, where Lainey offered further commentary.

"I don't know what's going on with her, but if she doesn't knock it off she's going to get slapped."

Priestly didn't answer. He didn't know what to say to that. He felt like an idiot. He should have realized it would piss Lainey off. Who wanted to hear that someone else, especially their own sister, was getting weirdly friendly with their boyfriend? And he didn't want to be the one to start shit between sisters. If they wanted to have shit between them, they could have it, but he didn't want to be the cause.

As soon as he finished his pizza, he reached for the door of the car to move back to the front seat. He only had a half hour for lunch and needed to get back to the grill. Lainey stopped him, dragging her mouth across his.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked sexily, straddling him. He grinned and let go of the door handle.

He kissed her back, letting his hands wander in a 'PG' sort of way since they were on West Cliff in front of a million passersby on rollerblades, on foot, on bikes. But she was killing him. When she started to grind against him a little, he took her hips and eased her back.

"Whoa," he said, chuckling. "That's a little too awesome," he told her, kissing her. "We'd probably better go now. I'm running late, I think." He thought again, not for the first time, that he should really get some kind of watch.

She frowned at him. "Nobody's watching."

He looked around. "Everybody's watching. Or could be watching."

"So, you're ashamed to be seen with me?" she countered, reaching for the door on her side.

He blinked. "No," he said slowly. "I'm just not a fan of getting picked up by the cops for sex in public. Or lewd behavior or public indecency or whatever the hell they call it."

She scoffed at him. "These days we wouldn't even be considered PG-13."

"Well," he got in the front beside her and looked out the window at the rollerbladers. "Guess I'm just a crotchety old guy, then," he joked, giving her a half smile in hopes it would chill her out. "I like my sex in private."

She rolled her eyes, but she relented and gave him a smile. "Prude," she said, pointing the car back toward the grill.

He just lifted one shoulder and looked out the window.

* * *

_June 11, 2005_

Priestly stood out back near the dumpster, almost wishing he smoked. In books he read, people were often smoking or drinking to steady their nerves. He sure as shit could use something to steady his. Shawnna was making him skittish as hell. More of the same…cornering him so that she couldn't help but brush against him, only it was getting ridiculously obvious to even the regulars now.

"Thought you were hanging around with Shawnna's sister or something," Michael, the construction guy, said. Priestly just gave him a look that made him laugh. "Ohhhh," he said knowingly, and the rest of the table started laughing, too.

He'd met up with Mike at Mojo's the night before and told him about it, trying to figure out if Mike could shed any light on the situation. After laughing his ass off for about five minutes at Priestly's freaked out expression, he said,

"Sounds like little sis has a crush on you or something. That would explain the initial hostility…she had to be pretty ripped when you took her sister out instead of her. Man," Mike shook his head, still chuckling, "you really know how to pick them, don't you?"

His head shot up. He wondered if Mike knew that Jude had never stopped emailing him. Not a ton of emails, because she never had sent a ton of them even when they were…whatever they were. But she still sent them, all with no subject lines so he couldn't see what they said without opening them. He deleted them all without reading them, which instead of growing easier over time was more and more difficult. He'd come so close to opening her latest email the other day he thought he would go fucking crazy. But he deleted it and then immediately emptied the trash on his email. If there was a way to retrieve them at that point he didn't know. They were gone forever so far as he knew.

She'd called a few times, too, but he recognized the number so he just let it roll to voicemail. It was probably a lucky thing that she didn't leave a message or call from an unfamiliar number, because he didn't think he could handle hearing the sound of her voice. Even now, dating Lainey, he wasn't sure he could stand it, that it wouldn't tear his heart out all over again.

Mike waved a hand in front of his eyes, laughing again.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a shot. He blinked when the ball sailed into the pocket. He hadn't expected that.

"So, Jude's been asking me how you are," he said casually.

Priestly gave him a look and shook his head. "Let's not go there, man."

Mike held up his hands. "Sorry. You're right. None of my business why you won't answer her emails or pick up the phone when she calls."

Priestly sighed, glaring at him. He should have known it wouldn't be possible to stay friends with Mike. Maybe not even with Patrick and Kelly and maybe not with any of the other handful of people he'd met through Jude. But Mike seemed to be the only one that had to keep kicking at the closed door.

Mike sighed, too. He shook his head. "Look, Priestly, I like you. I like working out with you, I like hanging and playing pool and shit like this. Jude's, like, one of my best friends, though. I told you before I don't like to see my friends getting into bad situations, even if they involve other friends. Well, that time I was looking out for you. This time, I'm looking out for Judy. You should at least hear her out."

Priestly gave him what he hoped was a dangerous, _fucking shut up right now_ look. But it must not have worked because Mike kept on talking.

"I don't know what it is she's emailing you or why she's calling. She just keeps asking me about you, so finally the other night I told her to knock it off because I'm trying to stay out of it." Mike looked miserable. Priestly started to wonder if he should have read the emails. "She fucking started to cry, okay? I felt bad, so I told her I'd mention it to you." He sighed heavily. "I don't want to fuck up our friendship," he said, gesturing between himself and Priestly, "but you gotta understand. I can't stand it when women fucking cry. It fucking kills me. They pull out the waterworks, and I fucking lose it, myself. I start promising them anything just to get them to stop. So I told her I'd talk to you. And now I have, and now I'm done. I'm sorry, man. Seriously. I won't mention it again." He held up a hand.

Priestly tried not to smile. He tried even harder not to laugh. He snorted. "Well, now that we're done with share time, can we finish this game?"

Mike looked chagrined. "You're not gonna throw me a bone here at all? Not even a little one?"

"Nope," Priestly said flatly. "And if you don't want me to figure out a way to kick your ass even though you're probably always going to be able to kick mine, you'd better let it rest." He met Mike's eyes. "Seriously."

Mike didn't answer. Priestly liked to think it was because he'd earned a new level of respect from the guy.

The sound of the grill door opening dragged Priestly out of his recollection of the night before. Fuck. Shawnna. He just stared at her, wishing again for that cigarette or a shot of tequila or something. Anything.

He stood up and started heading for the back door. She stood in his way, squinting up at him in the sun.

"Hey, Priestly."

He just nodded at her and tried to step around her, but she stepped to the side, too. He tried to go the other way, but she stepped to that side. There was no way in hell he was going to put a hand on her. He wasn't about to open a can of worms. No freaking way.

"Shawnna," he suggested, playing dumb, "stay put and I'll go around you."

"I don't want you to go around me," she said, rising up on her tip toes and planting a kiss on him before he could dodge it. He stepped back immediately.

"What are you doing?"

"C'mon," she said in a low voice, stepping toward him, "there's no one out here but us."

"Shawnna," he began, shaking his head, stepping back again when she got closer, wondering if he could fake her out.

"You like me," she said quietly. "I know you like me." She advanced on him until he felt the dumpster behind him again. When she slid her hand to the front of his cargo shorts, he batted her hand away.

"Whoa!" he cried, standing up so that he towered fully over her. She looked up at him with big eyes. "What the fuck are you doing? I'm dating your sister," he growled.

She rolled her eyes. "But you're thinking about me all the time. I heard you asking her about me. You couldn't stop asking her about me," she accused, trying again to rub him.

"_Morticia_," he growled, "get it through your head. I'm dating Lainey. I like _Lainey_. So stop the fucking games, okay? Don't make chit chat, don't touch me. If it's not about subs or customers, don't talk to me. Jesus!"

This time, she let him duck past her. He barreled for the door, unnerved. Priestly took a deep breath just inside the door, and then, fearing she'd be right behind him, he hurried out to the dining room. He felt like an ass. He felt ashamed for talking to her that way, but he didn't think she'd get it any other way.

As he cleared a couple tables in the dining room, Trucker glanced up at him from the last booth where he was doing the usual paperwork.

"You okay, Priestly?"

He glanced at Trucker, then glanced quickly away as Shawnna passed behind the last booth and slammed into the ladies bathroom. He looked down at the table he was cleaning. He didn't know what to say to Trucker.

"Priestly?" Trucker asked, peering over the tops of his reading glasses at him.

"You don't want to know," Priestly said.

A few minutes later, a small crowd came in and Priestly moved over to the cold station to help Joe with the orders. Some time later, as he finished the last of the cold ones, he leaned over to Jen and said miserably,

"Jen, Shawnna's been in the bathroom for a while. Can you go check on her, make sure she's not in there crying or something?"

She looked at him bewilderedly, so he whispered a quick version to her. She bit her bottom lip. "Okay, I'll go check. I'll be right back."

Trucker looked up as she passed. Priestly took the hot wrapped sandwiches Joe thrust out at him and saw Jen burst out of the bathroom looking pale. She bent down and whispered something to Trucker and then ran to the counter and picked up the phone.

Priestly heard tears in her voice as she said,

"I need an ambulance at the Beach City Grill," As Jen rattled off the address, there was an apology in her eyes as she looked at Priestly. "We've got a woman unconscious in the bathroom. I think she OD'd on something."

He looked for Trucker in the back corner, but he'd disappeared, probably into the bathroom to check on Shawnna. He felt a ball of ice settle somewhere in his chest. He looked desperately at Jen and shook his head. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Fuck.


	38. Waiting for Your Turn to Come

**_A/N: TIH= not mine. Things continue on toward canon._**

* * *

_June 11, 2005_

Trucker picked up the phone to dial Lainey, Shawnna's listed emergency contact. Priestly grabbed the phone out of his hand with a grim look. Trucker opened his mouth to object, but Priestly shook his head. Trucker stepped aside, but he didn't like it. He considered wrestling the kid to get the phone back. Instead, however, he stood beside him and sent out vibes of silent support.

Thank God she was still alive when the paramedics came. Trucker didn't know what it was she'd taken, but she'd used a needle. He felt sick at the sight of her slight little body unresponsive on the floor. He'd felt like something was off with her, but he'd hired her hoping that like with Priestly, whatever was off would right itself over time. And instead, unlike with Priestly, it had gone the other way completely. He blamed himself. He'd seen her get weird over Priestly. He should have tried to talk to her or something. Maybe he should have let her go before it could happen, but there wouldn't have been grounds. She did the work. And who's to say they wouldn't have just ended up in the same place sooner?

"Lainey," Priestly was saying, his voice tight, "Shawnna took something. Jen found her out cold on the bathroom floor. The ambulance just left for Dominican." He paused, glancing up at Trucker, distress all over his face. "Look, I…you…"

Trucker gently eased the phone out of his hand, pointing to the back room. "Go," he mouthed. Joe was still working at the grill, pulling OT. Trucker rubbed the place that began to ache between his eyebrows. "Lainey? This is Trucker. I don't really know what to say here, but there's a little more to the story. It's only fair that you know, so you can maybe get her some help…"

Priestly paced the back room like a caged lion. Trucker just watched him for a few seconds, silently, before the kid looked up and noticed him there.

"Did you tell her?" he asked, looking horrified and miserable all at once.

"I told her what I could. What happened, exactly?"

Priestly's voice got rough. "She kissed me. She put her hand on my crotch. She said she knew I liked her because I asked Lainey all these questions about her."

"You did?"

Priestly looked hurt and guilty. "I wanted to know what the deal was, why she hated me one second and was all buddy buddy the next, so I asked Lainey a couple questions. But Shawnna thought it meant I liked her or something." He lifted his hands to his neck and then up over his face and said desperately, "I thought if I let her down too gently, it would just, you know, encourage her further or something. I was mean, Truck. I was a jerk. I called her Morticia. I told her to leave me the fuck alone." He closed his eyes and stood there clenching his jaw. Trucker could all but see him replaying the scene in his mind, the same way, he suspected, the kid had gone over and over the scene at the church in years past.

"Hey," Trucker said, watching him torture himself over it. The kid was good at blaming himself for everything under the sun, even things that couldn't possibly be his fault. Like that whole mess with the deacon. "Priestly, you can't—″

Priestly looked up at him. "Don't," he said, pointing a finger at Trucker, shaking his head. "Don't tell me this isn't my fault because it _is _my fault. Anybody could see Shawnna was messed up. Any idiot could tell that talking to her the way _I_ talked to her would put her over the edge. Anyone but me, that is," he snorted. "If she dies, that's on me. Jesus," he said, running his hands up the wave of his hair, scrubbing it. It bounced back.

"Kid, listen to me," Trucker said, stopping his pacing by stepping in front of him. Priestly looked up at him, his eyes glittering, nostrils flaring. His jaw twitched. Trucker looked past him, over his shoulder, hoping the lack of eye contact would help him calm down. "Someone like that, like Shawnna…that kind of reaction to an argument…that's not something you can predict or prevent. And someone like that, you can't talk to reasonably."

"Don't you fucking say it was the right thing to do, it wasn't the right thing to do." Priestly argued.

"I'm not going to say that," Trucker told him, inwardly wincing as he went on. "It wasn't the right thing to do, Priestly. But what I'm telling you, man, is maybe there _was_ no right thing here. Being nice probably wouldn't have fixed it, either. Just don't eat yourself up over it. You didn't know it was going to play out this way." Priestly nodded, but Trucker knew the kid wasn't going to forgive himself any time soon. He just hoped Priestly wouldn't do anything stupid over it.

After a few seconds of silence, Priestly asked, "Is Lainey okay?"

"I don't know. She thanked me for calling and said she'd head over to Dominican to find out what was going on." Trucker peeked out front. It was quiet. "Look, if you want to take off and head over there, I'm cool with that."

Priestly looked at him, clearly torn. He shook his head. "I'm not sure she wants me there. And I'm pretty sure I won't win any points with Lainey's mother, either."

As Priestly moved past him to go back out into the grill area, Trucker put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Priestly turned his somber, black lined eyes to him and said softly,

"Thanks."

* * *

_June 12, 2005_

He waited until the middle of the night because he hoped he could sneak in and sneak out again with no one the wiser. The hospital was quiet. He'd asked Lainey how Shawnna was doing, and her voice had been neutral when she'd said third floor, room 312. But she'd hung up on him without really answering his question. He wasn't sure if that was because of the hospital rules about cell phones or if that was because he'd blown it with her completely.

He went straight to the room, glad the nurse's station was deserted. With an appearance like his, people were more likely to enforce rules like visiting hours. He was glad to see Shawnna was asleep. Foolishly, he hadn't expected to see anyone there. He realized the woman in the chair beside the bed must be their mother. Heart pounding, he backed out of the room, relieved beyond words when she didn't wake up and see him there and know he was the one responsible for her daughter lying in that bed.

He nearly collided with Lainey, though.

"Lainey," he croaked helplessly, also not counting on seeing her there so late.

She didn't ask what he was doing there. She didn't cry or scream or accuse. She didn't, but he almost wanted her to. He put his hands on her arms, slid them down. He just looked at her helplessly for a minute.

"Look," he said quietly, watching a nurse pass them with a curious look. "I'm sorry about all this."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Lainey said flatly, her eyes dull. "That's Shawnna. I told you she was messed up. I just didn't tell you how much."

"Yeah, but, I shouldn't have–"

"No," Lainey shook her head. "Don't make excuses for her. She put the needle in her arm. She pushed the plunger. If she wasn't who she is, nothing you said or did could have made it happen. Everything in life is a choice, Priestly, and _she_ made the wrong one. Everybody always wants to baby her and coddle her and come to her rescue," Lainey's voice turned bitter and angry. "Well, fuck that. You know what _I _want to do?"

Priestly waited, watched her swipe angry tears away.

"If I knew I wouldn't end up looking like the total heartless bitch, I'd fucking fill that needle all the way to lethal and tell her next time, if she's going to be an idiot, take it all the fucking way. But see, that's not the goal with Shawnna. The goal is to suck up everything she can get."

Priestly realized then that the events of the night were some kind of repeat performance. Lainey had clearly been in this position before, and it was also clear that she felt like she'd be there again. And again. And again. He started to think about things from Lainey's perspective, the one perspective he hadn't considered at all. The distance she kept from her sister, the bitter sarcasm about driving her everywhere, the apathy about where Shawnna's behavior with him was coming from.

Now, watching Lainey, still absently rubbing his hands up and down her arms, he saw her layers. He saw her fear, her sadness, her empathy, her anger. Frustration, bitterness, loneliness, rage. If he had his guess, he'd guess Lainey felt like she was living in Shawnna's deep shadows while everyone orbited Shawnna like she was the sun. He'd guess she was sick of being invisible while everyone catered to her poor, broken sister. Whether the drama was genuine or manufactured didn't much matter when you felt like you were screaming at the top of your lungs and no one could hear you. Or heard you but ignored you, listening instead to another screaming voice.

He cupped Lainey's face in his hand. She turned into his palm like it was something she'd been waiting for her entire life, something she despaired would never come. Silent tears raced down her cheeks. He brought his lips to hers gently. When he embraced her, she trembled in his arms. He kissed her for a few more moments, and then he just cradled her against him. She seemed to need that more than the kissing, anyway. He stayed where he was, unmoving. He let her pull back first. She looked up at him, and for the first time he could actually see that she was the older sister. She suddenly looked it. Weary. Exhausted. Tense.

"I should go," she said dully. "Can you tell your boss she won't be back to the grill?"

Priestly was surprised by that. He hadn't thought ahead that far. He nodded.

Apparently, Lainey realized he was puzzled. "The next step is always a week or two in the psych ward, and they always tell Shawnna to start fresh, which means she always goes back to square one: Everybody taking care of her, tiptoeing around her, babying her, doing everything for her while she tries to rebuild her independence." She smiled grimly. "Someone ought to tell them the old line about doing the same thing and expecting different results, but whatever."

He nodded. "Where…" he paused, looking over her shoulder at a nurse bustling by. "Where are we? Are we okay?"

Lainey's face twisted up and fresh tears built in her eyes but didn't spill over. She took a deep breath and appeared to intentionally will herself back to calm. The distress on her face smoothed clear, reminding him of water that rippled and then went still. "Square one," she said.

He took her gently by her arms again. "Wait," he said, his voice rough. "What about that lethal needle?" he asked, realizing now what she meant by it. She didn't mean she really wanted to kill her sister or help her sister kill herself. She just wanted to have something for herself, live her own life without fear of the fallout.

Lainey seemed to understand exactly what he meant, because her voice filled with sadness and she shrugged. "I guess I can't be the total bitch. I'm sorry, Priestly." She shook her head. "I hope you realize that this is so not about you." Her eyes filled again. Her jaw clenched. "But I think we both know I can't see you anymore."

"Lainey," he said, his voice thick now, "c'mon. When is it going to be your turn?" He reached for her, but this time she stepped back out of range, her arms wrapped around herself in a gesture of what he suspected was long familiar self-comfort.

She shook her head and shrugged. And then, resolutely, she ducked past him into Shawnna's room, knowing he couldn't and wouldn't follow. He stood there staring after her until a nurse stopped to ask him if he needed something. He just looked at her for a moment and shook his head. There was nothing she could do for him.

* * *

_August 2, 2005_

Priestly stepped off the bus into the unusually hot afternoon. The humidity, blended with the heat, made him feel almost woozy. Not to mention like he was in need of another shower. On days like this one, he wished he had his own car. Maybe soon. He had a few thousand put away. He thought he might start looking for an old junker to fix up sometime soon.

He turned the corner at Mesa, and his eyes swept the block. Joanne, the owner of Joanne's closet, was in her window, putting up a new display. There were a couple people leaving Senfuku, the sushi place next door to the grill, and a bike messenger was just turning off on Nelson.

Priestly saw motion over at the old Stabler's store. A slender woman with long, wavy red hair had some boxes precariously balanced at her hip as she tried to unlock the door with her free hand. He checked the street for traffic and jogged over just in time to catch the top box as it toppled over. She turned to him with a grateful smile.

"Here," he said, "let me hold those so you can open the door." When she just took him in with gentle brown eyes, glancing at his shirt, which was the old _Jesus is coming. Look busy, _he offered, "I, uh, I work at the sandwich shop across the street…Beach City Grill? I'm not going to take off with your boxes or anything."

She tipped her head to the side and studied him. "Of course not." She handed him the other two boxes she was carrying and unlocked the door.

"I'm Priestly," he offered, waiting for her to step inside before following her in.

"Hello, Priestly, I'm Zo." Her voice was soft, almost melodic. "Please be careful, there's clutter everywhere. I'm remodeling."

He put the boxes down where she indicated, looking around at the already-in-progress remodel. The old industrial carpet was gone. The place was down to concrete, waiting for flooring and the walls had been stripped bare of shelving. He hadn't realized before, but the space had been divided into two smaller units, no longer the large open showroom style. "Need any more help?" he asked, looking at the walls, discarded shelving, and general moving in chaos.

She broke into a wide grin and gestured into the air. "I was just asking for someone, and here you are. I've got some temporary work during the remodeling. I'm not good with hammering or power tools. I have the vision of what this space needs to be but no way to make it so."

"You're in luck," Priestly grinned. "I've done a lot of construction for Habitat for Humanity and some remodeling, too. But I've got my other job across the street," he said, pointing over his shoulder.

She nodded. "So you've said."

"I could help you out in the mornings before three," he offered. "How long do you think it'll be before you open?"

"Opening day is September 1st," she answered. "I have one helper, Kirk, already. He's down buying materials now. But he could use an assistant. I think you'll do just fine."

"Great," he smiled.

"Can you come back tomorrow at eight?"

He nodded, still looking around the cluttered, disorganized space. "What, uh, what kind of store are you opening?"

The corners of her mouth lifted. "Zo's is a place of harmony, growth, and learning. I offer things toward those purposes. Books, meditational tools, self-awareness aids, and also various tools for healing."

He nodded. "Cool."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, and he got the distinct feeling he was being gently dismissed.

"Yeah, sure. Tomorrow," he agreed.

When he got across the street, Trucker was at the register desk looking out the window. Priestly gave him a nod as he pulled open the door to the grill. Once he made his rounds through the dining room and headed out into the prep area with clean hands and a freshly tied apron, Trucker looked his way.

"So, what's the story on the shop across the street?" he asked.

Priestly moved to stand next to Trucker. Both of them just watched the storefront for a few moments. "The lady with the red hair in the window? That's Zo, the owner. She's going to open up a sort of New Age place. Crystals, books, stuff about meditation, candles…" He tried to remember if she'd told him anything else.

Trucker watched her a lot, Priestly noticed. As the afternoon wore on, he often caught Trucker staring out the window at Zo, who was always somewhere in sight whenever Trucker was looking over there. Sometimes she was in the window talking to a man wearing a tool belt, making broad gestures with her hands and arms. Sometimes she was out front on the sidewalk with him, facing her store, again making broad gestures. Priestly figured she was telling the guy what she envisioned for the store.

It could just be curiosity about Tim's old place, how it was going to be used and who was going to be there. Priestly thought Trucker's preoccupation was funny, though, until Trucker asked him if he could work doubles for the next couple of weeks. They'd been trying for the last month to just hold on with Joe and Trucker working mornings. Jen was able to work from one until close in the summer, even with her summer classes, but school would be starting again and both Jen and Priestly would have to go back to three to close when the fall quarter started on September 17th. It was too busy, though, for Trucker and Joe to work from eleven to one alone.

Priestly winced. "I sort of have a temporary job working on Zo's place until she opens, you know, getting the place in shape. I told her I could be there at eight tomorrow morning."

Trucker nodded. "Okay. We'll make it work."

"Sorry, man. I could maybe–″

"No, Priestly," Trucker stopped him. "It's okay. I've relied on you too much to fill in when we've been short."

"Yeah, but–"

"It's ok," Trucker repeated sincerely. Priestly felt that much worse. The guy needed him. And it was his fault they were short an opener, anyway.

He tried to explain again, but Trucker wouldn't have it. He'd already had Trucker's lecture on not blaming himself for things that weren't his fault, a lecture Trucker had been giving him since the whole Dale Bennett thing and reiterated several times since, most recently over the last month. Shawnna's departure wasn't his fault, Trucker insisted. His break up with Lainey, by the sound of it, wasn't either. Just circumstance, Trucker said. Sometimes when people came together, things got messy of their own accord. Priestly accepted that he and Lainey weren't meant to be. Wrong time or just wrong people, he wasn't sure. Or maybe it was the fact that they both had the same issue. They both wanted lives of their own, to be freed from the roles others wanted to push them into.

Joe had just left for the day when Priestly saw Zo crossing the street with the guy in the tool belt. He watched them approach as he cleared the first booth by the window and wiped it down. Trucker did, too, he noticed. She must have seen him as she came closer, because she stood just inside the door and the man in the tool belt came to stand next to her.

"Hi, Priestly," she said.

"Hi," he replied cheerfully as Trucker wandered over. She glanced over at him and smiled softly.

"Hello. I'm Zoheret," she said to Trucker.

Trucker nodded . Priestly waited for him to introduce himself. When he didn't, Priestly gave him a look and hitched a thumb in his direction. "Zo, this is my boss, Trucker."

"Hello, Trucker," she nodded. "Priestly, I just wanted to introduce you to Kirk and to ask if you could come by the shop for just a few minutes this afternoon." To Trucker, she said, "I was hoping I could share my vision for the shop with him, and Kirk thought it would be a better idea if I shared it with both of them at the same time."

Priestly nodded. "I can take a break at five or so," he offered.

"Nah, man, you can go over there for a few minutes now," Trucker offered. "We'll be okay here until you get back."

Zo's smile widened. "Are you sure that's alright?"

Trucker nodded and smiled but said nothing.

Priestly looked back and forth between them as they studied each other with open and obvious curiosity on Trucker's part and with an air of mystery on Zo's. He followed Kirk and Zo out the door with an amused grin.


	39. When the Levee Breaks

_August 16, 2005_

By mid-August, Priestly barely knew if he was coming or going. Zo's remodel was a bitch. She was easy to work for, it wasn't that. It was the building. He and Kirk discovered some unpleasant realities in the old Stabler's unit. Kirk showed him where commercial building codes were out of date or just plain violated. Much to Zo's dismay, there were electrical and plumbing issues not discovered prior to her leasing of the space. The landlord was covering the updates, but it meant delays.

Priestly threw himself into the jobs Kirk assigned him to. It was a good way to get women out of his head, for one. Though that particular relationship had been short lived, he missed Lainey and often wondered about both her and Shawnna. He continued receiving mystery emails from Jude, though he'd stopped receiving calls. In a moment of weakness, he'd created a folder labeled "Jude" in his email and started putting her emails there, unopened. Every time he got another he considered deleting the folder. He was no closer and no further away from reading them than he'd been before, but Mike's words kept coming back to him.

He caught sight of Kirk motioning to him from the corner of his eye. He pulled the ear plug out of one ear. The plumbers were jackhammering the floor in the bathroom to get at some piping.

"We have to stop for today," Kirk said, irritation obvious in his voice.

"Why?" he asked, looking up at the freshly hung sheetrock.

"They have to inspect the electrician's work before we can continue. They'll be here tomorrow morning."

"There's no damn wiring in this section," he gestured to the small area he was working at the front of the store.

"I know that, and you know that and even the inspector knows that," Kirk agreed. "But rules are rules. So we stop."

Priestly shrugged, looking at Zo, who was talking with one of the plumbers. He wondered how she felt about all the little disasters that had befallen her remodel. She seemed to be taking it all in stride. She didn't appear overly concerned or frustrated by it, so he took his cue from her. "Okay, man," he sighed, taking out the other ear plug and dropping both of the spongy disposable plugs into a nearby garbage barrel. "Are we working tomorrow, then, or will it be too late after the inspection?"

"Better make it day after tomorrow," Kirk nodded.

Priestly flashed him a peace sign and left the store. It wasn't even noon yet. He crossed to the grill to ask Trucker if he could borrow the Causemobile and go clean up. He'd been sponging off in the men's room at the shop after working at Zo's, carrying a change of clothes, deodorant and cologne in a backpack every day, but since he had the time he'd rather shower.

Trucker handed him the keys to the Causemobile, barely pausing in filling drink orders. "Hey, maybe you could just hop in the shower at my place," he said. "I left some paperwork there on the booth in one of those accordion files. I really need to get it finished. Could you just clean up there and bring me the file?"

"Sure, man. I'll be back in a few."

It took him less than an hour round trip to turn back up with Trucker's file. When he entered the grill, he saw Zo using the phone behind the register. As he delivered the file and the keys to the Causemobile to Trucker, he asked,

"Why is Zo using your phone?"

Trucker smirked. "Something happened to hers. She said it was working fine yesterday, now today…" He shrugged.

Priestly rolled his eyes. "Figures. Everything else over there is messed up." He continued to the back to put on an apron and get started.

* * *

_August 23rd, 2005 _

Priestly stood with Kirk admiring the job they'd done so far in the storefront of Zo's shop. She stood with them, smiling in that gentle way of hers. Kirk looked over at her.

"What do you think?"

She put her hands together happily. "I think it is just what I envisioned."

Kirk had come up with a faux paint scheme for the walls that made it feel like they were trying to look through waves of water. All four walls were painted in that fashion. They'd finished the front right corner of the store that morning. The shelves were made of plain plank wood on the horizontal so that the display surfaces were level and even, but they were faced with actual driftwood, rugged and natural. The lower bench style shelving at the bottom of the walls was also flat and even but the storage drawers and cabinet fronts were faced with more driftwood.

Priestly nodded at it. "Awesome," he agreed.

They still had to complete the rest of the space in the same fashion, of course, but he left Zo's for the grill feeling satisfied, glad that Zo was pleased with it.

As he opened the door to the grill and nearly bumped into a customer, two things were immediately obvious: they were slammed and there was a new face behind the counter. Instead of going the usual way through the back, he skipped saying hi to Lucille and Bam Bam and ducked behind the counter at the front. He greeted Jen as he passed, stopping near the unfamiliar guy.

"Hey, man. Who're you?"

The guy turned from the drink station toward him, lifting his chin. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a goatee. "I'm Miller. Just started this morning. Came in," he said, "asked about the help wanted sign. The place was crazy, so that guy," he snapped his fingers, his eyes roving as he clearly searched his mind for Trucker's name, "that surfer guy hired me and asked if I could just start today, right now. So…" he shook his head, turning back to the drinks. "I don't have my handler's card yet, so all I can do until I get it is drinks, cleanup, and bussing," he shrugged, "but it should help a little, right?"

Priestly grinned. "Yeah. I'll be out in a second, I just need to wash up. Where's Joe?"

Miller stopped. "Grill guy, right? He called in sick."

"Where's Trucker?" Priestly asked.

"Right here," Trucker said, heading out of the back room with more sub rolls.

"Trucker," Miller nodded, saying the name to himself as if to try to commit it to memory.

"Just let me wash up, Truck," Priestly said, edging past Miller.

The guy cracked Priestly up. He never shut up. He talked more than even most girls Priestly knew. Priestly even wondered if the guy was on something, but he didn't see any marks on his arms and the guy's eyes looked normal. Other than being really chatty, he wasn't overly energetic or wired or jumpy and he didn't have tics to suggest any sort of stimulant. Priestly smirked to himself as he hustled orders up at the grill as Trucker worked the cold station. He'd gotten an education from clubbing with Jude and from the short lived employees who'd passed through the door of the grill since he'd been there.

Miller worked out pretty well even though he couldn't fill orders yet. By closing that night, he'd also learned that Miller was only working at the grill until his band, Standoff, could book enough local gigs to get noticed. The dream, of course, was to record a CD and try to become big.

"What sort of music do you play?" Priestly asked.

"Metal and alternative," Miller answered. "We do some covers, but we have our own stuff, too. In fact, we're playing at a little place called Healey's next Saturday night, the 27th. You should come out, man. You too, Jen."

Priestly nodded. "Yeah, sounds cool. What are you, lead guitar? Bass?"

He shook his head. "Drums and backup vocals."

"Right on," Priestly grinned. Glancing at Jen, he asked, "What about you? Wanna be my boogie buddy?"

She smiled. "I already asked Sherri and Kate if they wanted to go and they're on board. Sam hasn't gotten back to me yet."

Priestly nodded and turned back to the grill.

* * *

_August 24th, 2005_

Priestly sat on the futon in his apartment, forking eggs into his mouth and watching the news. The weatherman's words caught his full attention.

"The National Hurricane Center has been aggressively monitoring what was being called Tropical Depression Twelve, whichhas been upgraded to Tropical Storm Katrina. The NHC is predicting that it may further develop into a hurricane and has issued a hurricane warning for the Vero Beach, Miami, and Fort Lauderdale cities of Florida. The storm is currently predicted to make landfall in the late evening hours tomorrow night."

Sally and Scooter were in St. Petersburg, on the other side of the peninsula. Looked like they'd be ok.

* * *

_August 25__th__, 2005_

Priestly was headed out the front door of the grill for a quick break when he noticed Eddie and Diane had a small radio on their table. He stopped beside their booth.

"Hey," he nodded at them.

Diane smiled at him. "We're just listening to the weather," Diane said sheepishly. "We're closet storm chasers."

He grinned. "You don't get much to chase around here."

"Well, we're watching Florida right now," Eddie explained. "We don't actually chase in person very often. We've done a couple tornados in Oklahoma."

Priestly nodded. "What's going on with Katrina?"

"She's become a Category 1 hurricane," Diane said. "She's hitting the greater Miami area as we speak."

"Shit," Priestly said.

"Do you have family or friends there?" Eddie asked.

"No. Mississippi," he said.

"Probably nothing to worry about, then. They're predicting the panhandle's going to get it again," Eddie said with a shrug.

"And they're just getting over Hurricane Dennis last month," Diane chimed in.

"What channel is that?" Priestly asked, pointing to the radio.

"It's AM 780. All day weather."

Priestly wandered outside, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled down to his mother's number and punched 'send'. It rang four times before anyone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Aunt Glenda?" he asked.

"Yes, who's this?" she asked. She had several nieces and nephews.

He rolled his eyes. He'd think she'd recognize his voice by now. "Priestly. Is my mom around?"

"Sure, honey. How are you?" As an afterthought, she called out, "Joyce! It's Priestly!"

After some rustling, his mother's voice came on the line. "Priestly?"

"Hi, Mom."

"Honey, is something wrong? Aren't you working?"

He smiled. She knew his schedule, which always surprised him. "I'm on a break. Some customers were just talking about Katrina, so I wondered if they've been saying anything about it there."

"That's in Florida, honey. Nothing to worry about."

He rolled his eyes. "I know it is right now, but you aren't exactly across the country. You're two states away."

"Well, they're talking about it on the news a lot and watching to see what it does."

"They're talking about the panhandle getting hit again. If it does, you'll probably see some action in Biloxi, right?"

"Priestly," his mother sounded amused, "you remember how it all goes. Watch and wait."

"Yeah." He did remember. Latimer was only about a twenty minute drive from the Biloxi city limits. Any time there were hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico, everybody in Latimer chattered over fences and in diners about the weather and about what preparations to take, whether to stay or go. "Okay," he said, glancing inside the grill. "I have to go. Just wanted to check what they were saying in Biloxi."

"Honey, don't worry," his mother said. But her voice held a note of surprised pleasure, as if she'd never expect him to have any concern for her.

"Tell me if anything changes," he said.

"I will."

"Okay," he said. "I love you." It had become easier over time to say that to her.

"I love you, too, honey." Again, surprised pleasure.

"Bye." He clicked off and slid the phone back in his pocket.

* * *

_August 26, 2005_

Priestly had only been at the grill for about an hour and a half when his cell phone rang. He normally silenced it when he worked, but because of the hurricane watch, he had it on in case his mother called, and by the display he could see it was her.

"Mom? What's up?"

"They just reported on the news that the expected storm track shifted. Now they're saying the Gulf Coast is directly in the path. They've activated the National Guard."

"Any evacuation information yet?" he asked, feeling his body go tense.

"No, honey. But we've got the TV going and we'll be watching closely. Uncle Bud has been calling around to see if any of his friends have heard anything more. I don't know anything else right now except we're checking the totes so we have everything ready just in case and Bud plans to call around and try to figure out where we'll go if they do put out an evacuation order."

"Okay," he said, "My phone's on. Call me if anything changes. No matter what time it is," he added.

"I will, honey. I love you."

"Me, too," he said, glancing around the grill as he clicked off the phone.

"Everything okay?" Trucker asked from the register, glancing up from the food order. They'd talked about the storm a little bit the night before at the Wednesday barbecue.

He nodded. "So far. Just more watching and waiting."

Jen looked back at him. "I need two six inch Sallys and an eight inch Cheesesteak."

Priestly nodded. "Coming up."

* * *

_August 27__th__, 2005_

By the time Priestly crossed the street from Zo's to the grill, he'd still heard nothing from his mother. When he tried to turn on his phone in the back room, he discovered why. He'd forgotten to charge the battery and it was dead. Swearing, he went into the back room to wash up. He dug the charging cord out of his backpack and plugged it into the outlet near the old time clock that no one used, resting the phone on top of the casing to charge. And then he frowned at it because he knew it would be a couple hours before it would be fully charged.

Jen asked him about his mom right away.

"I forgot to charge my phone," he complained. "I hope she hasn't been trying to call me." He swore again.

"Well, I've been watching National Hurricane Center's website," she said, pulling up the minimized page for him.

He looked over her shoulder at the progression data showing the predicted storm track. "Crap," he said. Biloxi was pretty central to the predicted storm path.

"Do you want to borrow my phone?"

He shook his head. "I don't have the number memorized. I need my phone to call. I've got it charging in the back room."

Miller came to stand behind them, too. "Oh, man, I've got a couple friends who have family in New Orleans. They've called for a voluntary evacuation, but they're threatening to go mandatory." Priestly gave Miller a look. Miller realized his error and winced. He clapped Priestly's shoulder and said, "Sorry, man. I'll just shut up now."

Jen hid the NHC website page and gave him the latest order, clearly hoping to distract him. It helped, actually, but Priestly was relieved when he was able to check his phone almost two hours later and discovered no messages waiting for him.

He scrolled to his Aunt Glenda's number and hit 'send'. The phone rang and rang, and the machine never picked up. Priestly frowned. He dialed again, though he knew he couldn't have misdialed. Same thing. The machine didn't pick up. He wondered what to do, where else he could call. His mother had no cell phone that he was aware of, just the landline at Glenda's. He didn't know any of the phone numbers for anyone else in his family. That realization made him feel a little panicky, but he told himself that if his mother had tried to call earlier and hadn't gotten him, maybe she'd try again later. She'd admitted to calling without leaving messages before.

It bothered him all night, though. So much so that Jen and Trucker noticed he was quiet and tense. He told them he couldn't reach her and didn't know why. At closing, Jen checked the NHC website again. What he saw ratcheted up his worry. The hurricane watch had become a hurricane warning. Anyone who lived in hurricane areas knew that meant a higher level of threat and a greater certainty of destructive force.

He called Glenda's again, even though it was just after eleven in Biloxi.

Nothing.

"Fuck!" he muttered and ended the call. He tucked the phone back in his pocket.

Trucker looked at him but said nothing, just squeezed his shoulder as he grabbed the nearly empty soup kettle to dredge the leftovers out and into the plastic containers he kept for Robby, the homeless man who sometimes knocked on the front window after closing. Priestly helped Miller and Jen clean up. Miller graciously took the bathroom check, everyone's least favorite chore.

As Priestly wiped down the front tables with Jen, forsaking their usual rock, paper, scissors game, he glanced at her. "Hey, Jen?" he asked.

She looked over at him.

"Would you mind if I backed out of the whole bar thing tonight?" He shook his head. "I don't think I'm going to be great company."

She paused. "Do you want some company?"

"Nah," he waved it off. "Go dancing. Listen to Miller's band, tell me if they're any good," he joked. She smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"Dance for me," he urged. "I'm just going to be glued to the phone all night. I'm sorry," he added. "Next time, I promise."

She stood up straight and headed over to him. "Don't apologize," she said firmly. "If you need something, call my cell."

He gave her a half smile. "Thanks."

* * *

_August 28, 2005_

He'd wondered if he would even sleep, but when he shot straight up at the sound of his phone ringing, Priestly realized he must have dozed off.

"Mom?" he asked, his eyes still half closed. He couldn't see well enough to read the bedside clock.

"Honey?" The line was all staticky. "C-n you h- me?"

"Mom?" he asked, leaning forward and listening hard. "You're cutting out."

"I'm s-ry. I'm –n ce- phone. –ey –ust issued -tory eva—tion."

"Mom?" he asked. _Mandatory evacuation. _He didn't need to hear the whole thing to understand that much.

"-ing to –esse. –ud's –er."

"Mom?" he strained with everything he had as if it would make the crackling and hissing stop from his will alone. "Mom, I didn't catch that. Where are you going to be? What's the number?"

"-oo –oo -t –or –ee –uh –ine –ee."

"What?" he tried not to yell. For all he knew, she could hear him just fine. But panic gripped him again at the thought that she was going to evacuate to God knows where and he wouldn't have the number because he couldn't hear her. "Repeat that," he ordered. "I didn't get it."

"Oot ore istine ooree," she said.

"Mom, I really hope you can hear me better. Can you find someone who can send a text message with your number? Maybe Gina or Jerry?" Maybe one of his cousins could text. He sure hoped so. But he heard nothing on the other end of the line now. "Mom?" He waited a few seconds. "Mom?"

Nothing. He sat staring helplessly at the phone, which no longer had an open line but read _Call ended._

* * *

___**A/N: Wasn't sure about whether to include Katrina, but I realized that given where Priestly comes from, it would be impossible not to. I don't reside in the area and my memories are only vague, I'm afraid. If my research is inadequate/inaccurate, no offense is intended. If any reading should happen to be survivors, please know you have my deepest respect.**_


	40. Louisiana 1927

_August 28, 2005_

Priestly called Zo's to tell Kirk he'd be just a little late. Having mentioned his mother and the hurricane the day before, Kirk said it was no problem, take whatever time he needed. They'd work around it. They were almost finished, anyway. Next he called Glenda's home number, even though he knew no one would be there. He hoped the machine would pick up and give the number to the cell.

Nothing. No machine.

"Fuck," he said, rising from the bed to move to the computer.

He pulled up the National Hurricane Center, which held a large, bright red link to an urgent bulletin. Priestly felt the lump in his throat swell as he read it, some sections burning themselves into his brain:

_"HURRICANE KATRINA...A MOST POWERFUL HURRICANE WITH UNPRECEDENTED STRENGTH...RIVALING THE INTENSITY OF HURRICANE CAMILLE OF 1969. _

_MOST OF THE AREA WILL BE UNINHABITABLE FOR WEEKS...PERHAPS LONGER._

_ ALL GABLED ROOFS WILL FAIL...LEAVING THOSE HOMES SEVERELY __DAMAGED OR DESTROYED._

_ THE MAJORITY OF INDUSTRIAL BUILDINGS WILL BECOME NON FUNCTIONAL. PARTIAL TO COMPLETE WALL AND ROOF FAILURE IS EXPECTED._

_ AIRBORNE DEBRIS WILL BE WIDESPREAD...AND MAY INCLUDE HEAVY ITEMS SUCH AS HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES AND EVEN LIGHT VEHICLES. SPORT UTILITY VEHICLES AND LIGHT TRUCKS WILL BE MOVED. THE BLOWN DEBRIS WILL CREATE __ADDITIONAL DESTRUCTION. PERSONS...PETS...AND LIVESTOCK EXPOSED TO THE __WINDS WILL FACE CERTAIN DEATH IF STRUCK._

_ POWER OUTAGES WILL LAST FOR WEEKS...WATER SHORTAGES WILL MAKE HUMAN SUFFERING INCREDIBLE BY MODERN STANDARDS._

_ THE VAST MAJORITY OF NATIVE TREES WILL BE SNAPPED OR UPROOTED. _

_FEW CROPS WILL REMAIN. LIVESTOCK LEFT EXPOSED TO THE WINDS WILL BE __KILLED."_

"Jesus," he whispered to himself. And then: "Think," he said aloud. "Think." His mind raced.

He thought about it some more as he showered and stood before the mirror spiking his hair and maintaining the muttons. Once he'd tied his boots, he gathered his cell phone and the charger cord, though the phone was still charged from the night before. He called Trucker.

"Truck?" he asked when Trucker said hello.

"What's up?" Trucker asked.

"Can you ask Davis for a favor for me?"

"What do you need?"

He explained about needing to find out where his mother might be headed and the fact that he couldn't reach her. He asked if Davis could find names for his Uncle Bud's relatives and phone numbers for them. His mother only had Glenda, and any remaining members of his father's family had cut them off. He knew his mother wouldn't go to them, wouldn't even consider them a possibility. He knew his Uncle Bud had some family but didn't know their names or where they were. Beyond that, he was stumped. And being stumped made him feel helpless and afraid.

"Okay, man, I'll call him right now," Trucker promised. With the blunt but gentle concern that only Trucker could achieve, he added, "Keep your head on straight. Don't go to Zo's unless you can keep a clear head. I don't want you sawing off your fingers or nailing your own hand to the wall."

Priestly laughed, surprised that he could. "10-4, Trucker." Trucker hung up, so Priestly did the same.

He took what Trucker had said seriously and kept his mind on the remodel when he got to Zo's. He helped Kirk hang shelving until he thought his arms would fall off and then went back to cut more shelving boards for Kirk to stain that afternoon. When he turned off the saw, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he lifted his goggles and saw Trucker there, which made him instantly pull his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 3:29. Shit. He was late to work.

Trucker shook his head even as Priestly opened his mouth to apologize. "I figured you lost track of time." Priestly smirked back at him and held his hands out.

Zo noticed Trucker there as she appeared from somewhere in the back. She smiled at him. "Hello, Trucker."

He smiled at her. He seemed stuck on _duh _every time he ran into her. Priestly grinned at Zo as he stowed the goggles under the work bench.

"Trucker came to see if I sawed my hand off," he explained, slapping his shoulder on the way toward the front door, walking backward. "I'll see you tomorrow for the wrap up," he told her. She nodded at him.

Trucker looked at Zo, still smiling, but said nothing. Priestly rolled his eyes as he merely held up his hand in a little wave.

Priestly grinned when he stepped into the grill and discovered it wasn't a huge rush of customers that made Trucker come looking for him. Jen looked up at him from the laptop, concern on her face.

"Have you spoken to your mom yet?" she asked.

"She called this morning, but the line was so bad I couldn't get much except there's a mandatory evac on," he replied, glancing over her shoulder at the laptop. She just had the regular order screen for the grill up.

"Where is she going?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. She cut out, and I never got it out of her."

Jen just looked at him for a minute, and then the laptop signaled an order. Priestly headed into the back room to wash up and grab his apron. He stopped to try Glenda's place again, though he knew it was in vain. With the evacuation order in place, they'd already be on their way somewhere. Still, he held out hope the machine would magically pick up and deliver a phone number or the name of a hotel or some other hint. And it was a hope that was dashed again.

He made his way to the dining room to visit with the regulars. Lucille and Bam Bam had apparently gone already, but Mel Shipley sat working a puzzle in his favorite booth. Priestly bussed the table in front of his.

"How ya doin', Mel? You need a refill?" he asked.

Mel looked up at him, dazed, as was usually the case. Blinking, he recognized Priestly. "Oh, hello," he said, as if Priestly had just beamed in out of nowhere. Mel could really get caught up in his own world. His eyes fell on Priestly's shirt: _777 Upgrade of the Beast._ "That's different," he said. "Not your usual type of humor."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "You don't think so?"

Mel smiled a little, but it was down at his puzzle and not at Priestly. "You tend to favor sarcasm. This one is more…nerd humor."

Priestly laughed. "That explains why Jen got it!"

Mel chuckled down at his puzzle.

"Refill, Mel?"

Mel blinked up at him, apparently realizing it wasn't the first time Priestly had asked. "Sure. Thanks."

Priestly picked up his usual iced tea with lemon. "You want this one to go?"

Mel looked down at his watch. "Yeah," he said, surprised. "I guess I do."

When Priestly brought it back to him, Mel closed his puzzle book and put it in his ancient leather knapsack. As he stood up to go, he looked right at Priestly for a few brief seconds. "I evacuated for a storm once. I was stuck on the highway for hours trying to get out of town. I bet your mother is stuck on the highway."

He nodded. "Catch you later, Mel."

"Catch you later, Priestly," Mel echoed back to him, shuffling out in the odd way he had.

Priestly stayed to clear the table, which didn't take too much work. Mel was a little obsessive, cleaning up after himself fervently so that the only real debris was the plate itself. Crumbs or spills on his table were rare. Still, he swiped down the area with his rag and the spray. Just as he was about to head back behind the counter, Trucker came over to him.

"Here," he said, holding out a folded paper.

Priestly glanced at the page as Trucker pulled Mel's empty, crumby plate from his hand. He could see numbers.

"Davis," Trucker explained. "Why don't you take a quick break out back, make a couple calls?"

He nodded, already distracted looking at the information; already headed out back.

* * *

_August 28,2005_

Lou Ella Corley was the first name on Trucker's list. Corley was Bud's last name, so Priestly dialed, wondering what to say if he got anyone. But he didn't. It rang and rang and no one and no machine picked up.

The next name was Jack Corley. The line was busy.

Priestly kept going down the list of six names. Betty Drogan. He left a message on her machine, wondering the whole time about how it would feel to hear: "Um, Betty, I'm looking for anyone that might know my Aunt Glenda and Uncle Bud, last name Corley, or my mom, Joyce Priestly. They've been evacuated for Katrina, and I can't reach them anywhere. If you know them or how to reach them, could you please call me?" And then he left his number and a "thank you". Awkward.

He left a similar message for Tammy Hannon. There was no answer at George Corley's number, either. And, finally, at Paul Corley's number, he got "You've reached a party whose voicemail has not been set up yet. Goodbye."

He leaned his head back against the bricks, no closer to his mother, it seemed, than he'd been before. Two messages felt dismal and unlikely to produce results. Before going back inside, he tried Jack's number again. Still busy.

Sighing, he went back inside.

* * *

_August 28, 2005_

As the day wore on, Trucker watched Priestly become quieter and more tense. He fidgeted worse than any strung out junkie he'd ever seen. He couldn't blame the kid, but he wished there was something more that he could do. Jen discreetly continued to check the weather sites. Most of the information was about Louisiana, though.

Trucker said nothing about it, but he continued to give Priestly breaks to try the calls again. When he was out of ear shot, Trucker called Davis again.

"Hey, Trucker. Did Priestly find anyone?" were Davis' first words.

"Not yet. Are you sure there's no one else?" he asked.

"I tried a lot of the numbers I found. Not all of them, though. A lot of them were disconnected. It's insane how much is out there but outdated. A lot of the names I found for associated persons turned into dead ends. I'll poke around some more, but I really don't know what else I'm going to find. I could put some posts up on some bulletin boards, but I'd have to put up first and last names. When you do that you leave yourself and whoever else open to scams and such. Not sure we want to go there yet."

"Not yet," Trucker decided. "Maybe later, though."

"How's he doing?"

"He's…" Trucker considered his answer, watching for Priestly to come through the back room. "He's doing okay. He's wound pretty tight, but so far he's holding together okay."

"Poor guy," Davis said. "That's gotta be a little surreal. With all the technology we have, something like this cuts it all off and just makes you feel so…lost."

Trucker nodded as if Davis could see. "Yeah. I think that's the worst thing. The helplessness."

"It's the worst," Davis agreed. "Alright, man, I'll stand by. You let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"I will. Thanks."

"Yep."

Trucker hung up the phone just in time. Priestly came back in with a sigh, meeting his eyes and shaking his head. He looked over at Jen.

"Anything?"

Jen shook her head. "No orders."

Trucker shook his head. It figured. Just when the kid could use a big, hungry crowd, they were as dead as if Santa Cruz had been evacuated, too.

At seven, Trucker sent Miller home. They were just too dead. He'd thought about telling Priestly to go, but he thought sending the kid home to an empty apartment would be worse.

At eight, Priestly's phone rang, and he grabbed it out of his pocket so fast you'd think it was on fire. "Hello?" His face fell. "Hey, Mike. I can't really talk now. I'm working." He listened for a moment. "That sounds awesome, but I'm not really up to it tonight." He listened again. "Yeah, okay. I will. Later." He disconnected and dropped his face down on the counter.

"Why don't you go out back and try again?" Trucker suggested.

With a sigh, he stood back up, nodding. Wordlessly, he traipsed into the back room. Trucker heard the heavy door bang shut a few seconds later.

Jen looked at him. "I don't think we should leave him alone tonight, do you?"

Trucker smiled at her. "As a matter of fact, Angel, I don't. Want to come over for a barbecue?"

Jen smiled back. "We're not obvious or anything, right?" she joked.

"Doesn't matter," Trucker said.

When Priestly came inside again, he looked even more agitated than before.

"It's like everyone just dropped off the face of the planet! Nobody's answering their phones." He shook his head.

Trucker had no idea what to say to him, but Priestly seemed to be hoping for some as he picked up the spatula and began energetically cleaning the already mostly clean grill. He was relieved when Jen stepped in.

"I think Mel was probably right. They're probably stuck in traffic somewhere. Or they were. And now maybe they're finally free of it and cruising along. I mean, all those people leaving all at once would really cause a major back up on the highway."

Priestly nodded. "I know, but you'd think somebody from the list Davis gave me would be home. You'd think somebody would know something somewhere," he complained, shaking his head. He looked up at the ceiling. "C'mon!" he called upward. "Throw me a freaking bone, here!"

Much to Trucker's surprise, the laptop beeped and the front door opened at the same time. A large group came in asking for a table for eight. Jen sat up higher on her stool as Trucker moved into the dining area to shove a couple of tables together. It wasn't quite the type of bone Priestly was asking for, but the sudden orders took his mind off things for a few minutes.

Once they finished with the internet orders and the table of eight was walking out the door, Trucker flipped the sign behind them. Priestly's phone rang. They all seemed to hold their breath as he picked it up. Trucker watched him carefully as he listened to the other end. He didn't realize how much hope he'd put into it until he saw Priestly's jaw clench. The kid reached up to rub a hand over his face.

"Hey, Betty, thanks for calling back. Yeah. I will. Hang on to my number," he said before clicking off. He looked at them, his expression somewhere between dismal and desperate. "She hasn't heard anything. She'll call around and see if she can find anything out."

"Well, that's something, at least."

"Yeah. She's some cousin of my Uncle's. Second or third or some shit, but she knows a few people she can try."

They cleaned up quickly. When Trucker told him to come for some barbecue, he didn't protest. He didn't seem to want to be alone any more than they wanted him to be alone. On the ride to his pad, Priestly lamented,

"It's eleven-thirty in Mississippi. Where the hell is she? She knew about the evacuation at like 9:30 this morning. How can it be twelve hours later and she still isn't someplace safe?"

"There could be a million reasons," Trucker answered. He knew it didn't help, but the kid gave him a half-assed smile, anyway.

* * *

_August 28, 2005_

Priestly tried to pay attention to the cards Jen threw down because the game was one he'd never played before and it moved fast. Trucker had barely begun to grill when his phone rang. He'd stopped checking the display before picking it up, not wanting to waste the time.

"Hello?"

"Priestly?"

"Mom!" he said, relief flooding through him like water past a burst dam. "Jesus, Mom, where have you been?"

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding emotional. "I thought we'd never make it out of Biloxi. And then when we did, I thought we'd never make it out of Mississippi. The radio reports we listened to said every highway out of the state was a parking lot, and they were right about every road we got on. Not to mention the rain and thunderstorms."

"Where are you?"

"Uncle Bud's brother, Jack's. He's got a place in Nashville."

"I tried there about six times today. The phone was always busy."

"It was off the hook. They didn't know it until we got in. When I first tried to call there was no signal. Their cat sometimes messes with the phone and they don't notice. I'm sorry. And then Lou Ella got into her car to come over to tell us Betty called her because you called looking for me. I didn't mean to scare you, honey, I really didn't. And that cell phone, well, it was completely useless."

He rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it," he snorted. "Are you okay?"

"Well, I'm tired, honey. After all that sitting in the car you'd think I'd be raring to go, but I'm about to fall asleep standing here. But I couldn't go to bed without telling you we made it safe and sound. It took us two cars and a little pull behind trailer, but we're here."

"Good. I guess now we just watch some more, huh?"

His mother sighed and then yawned. "I guess so," she said wistfully.

"Mom, did you see the bulletin?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she agreed sadly. "Oh, I just hope it isn't as bad as they're predicting."

"Me, too."

"Sweetie," she said, yawning again, "I love you so much, and I'm so sorry I scared you. I'll stay in touch better now that I have a phone to do it with, I promise."

"Thanks. Take care, Mom." He waited until she hung up before he did the same.

Trucker turned to smile at him. He dropped his head to the patio table with a groan, suddenly exhausted. Jen tossed down her cards, giving up on the game he didn't have the focus to play, anyway. She reached across and tugged on one of his spikes. Balancing his chin on the table top, he looked up at her. She laughed.

"I'm glad she's ok, Priestly."

He nodded, turning his head toward Trucker. "When's dinner going to be ready? I'm freaking starving!"

Trucker laughed. "Give me a minute."

He sat up, scrubbing his face with both hands. He really did feel tired. Worrying himself crazy all day was the probable cause, of course. Decisively, he stood up. "I need a beer," he announced. "Trucker? Jen? Anybody want one?"

"Sure," Trucker said, flipping the steaks.

Priestly tried to wake up, join the party. He chatted with Jen and Trucker, and he helped Trucker finish making dinner. They ate in almost complete silence, just enjoying one another's company. When he finished, Priestly sat back against the cushion of the high-back patio chair, still pulling on the beer from time to time, but drifting on the soft conversation Jen and Trucker were having about Jen's upcoming classes.

A sudden nudging at his knee made Priestly bolt back to full awareness. Trucker smirked at him. "Why don't you crash on the couch?"

His eyes already trying to close again, he nodded and dragged himself to his feet, mumbling a goodbye to Jen and a goodnight to Trucker. Relief, it appeared, was the cure for the insomnia he didn't have in the first place.

* * *

_**A/N: OK, so the chapter title isn't the best since we're talking about Mississippi and not specifically about Louisiana. But it has a mournful flavor I liked.**_


	41. Changes

_September 18, 2005_

Priestly stood waiting for his mother's plane to land. As he waited, he remembered her tearful voice on the phone the week before.

"It's gone," she said, her voice wobbling. "It's all gone."

He'd tried to console her, but what could you say to someone who literally just lost everything? It had been weeks of waiting, knowing the likely outcome but they'd made no attempt to travel back to Biloxi. It was a neighbor who'd confirmed it. Another family too afraid to venture back only to find when they did that the entire neighborhood had been decimated.

"Oh, I have what's important," his mother said. "I have Glenda and Bud and their kids are okay. You're okay. And the trailer and the totes we brought had the rest of everything important…our clothes, the photo albums, the important papers, a few keepsakes. I just feel so bad for Glenda and Bud. And I can't keep imposing on Jack, Priestly. I just can't. It's close quarters. We're all getting on each other's nerves. And Glenda and Bud have enough trouble fighting with their insurance company over the house. They're trying to say it was flood damage so they can deny the claim. If that happens, they won't have anything to start over with. So I called you to ask if you could stand having me for a couple weeks, just until I figure out what to do."

Of course he could stand her, he'd said. Although, to be honest, he'd put it a bit more colorfully than that, he'd been so gobsmacked by the fact that she thought she had to ask. Now he stood in the airport watching everyone come through the gate, wondering what their stories were. Then he saw her, and the intensity of his reaction took him by surprise.

He hid his face over her shoulder as he hugged her, not wanting her to see how perilously close he was to losing it. He'd missed her more than he realized, not having seen her since his father's funeral. When he released her, she took him in. He forgot how he looked, forgot she hadn't seen the full effect because he'd thought it was easier just to arrive in Latimer looking mostly like he'd looked when he left. After Trucker had dropped him at the airport, he'd spent the two hour wait for his flight washing the color out of his hair in a men's room sink and removing his piercings before putting on a long sleeved t-shirt. He couldn't remember if she'd seen the pictures from the beating or not. Judging by her reaction to him, he didn't think so.

She covered her surprise well, saying nothing about his royal blue double Mohawk, studded wrist cuff, the piercings, the eyeliner, or the forearm tattoos. She'd seen the clothes before. He'd only worn the choir boy stuff to the funeral itself and for some of the errands around town afterward. If she was dismayed to see him marked and pierced, she said nothing to indicate her feelings.

"Mom," he asked, "do you have any other bags?"

She shook her head. "I shipped everything here, not that there was much. I figured it would be better just to wait until I settle somewhere to start buying new things. I should be getting a few boxes from Fed Ex this week."

"I'm parked out pretty far," he said. "Let me take that." He reached for her small rolling carryon bag.

As he drove them from San Jose back to Santa Cruz, he told her more about the city. Over the last year, they'd become closer than before. Less awkwardness, more openness. But he hadn't told her all that much about his life, so he told her now. He told her more about Trucker, for one. He told her about Jen, Miller, his job at the grill, the new classes he was taking, and Leo and the apartment.

"You can have my room, Mom," he told her. "I've got a futon in the living room I can sleep on."

She turned to look at him instead of out the window at everything. "Honey, no, you don't–″

"Mom," he cut her off, "you'll take the bedroom. And I've been doing some research on Baptist churches in the area. I didn't realize there were so many. I bet you could get–"

"You haven't been going to church?" she asked, looking surprised.

"Mom," he sighed, not looking at her.

"Priestly," she said haltingly, "don't let what your father did–″

"Mom, can we not talk about this right now?" he asked sharply.

He glanced at her when she went silent, but she'd turned to look out the window again.

To his surprise, Trucker was sitting at the little table on his landing when they got to his apartment. As he pulled Trucker's Toyota into the driveway next to the Causemobile, Trucker ambled down the stairs to meet them.

"Hi," Trucker said, looking surprised when Priestly pulled only the small wheeled suitcase out of the trunk and closed the lid. "I'm Trucker," he said, holding his hand out. "Priestly works for me. I have a sandwich shop."

She nodded. "Hello, Trucker," she said, shaking his hand delicately. "I'm Joyce."

"Joyce," he nodded. "Listen," he said just as Priestly started for the stairs. "Leo called the other day, and I happened to mention your situation. He said you're welcome to stay in his house for a little while until you get your bearings."

When his mother looked at him questioningly, Priestly pointed to the main house and said, "Leo's my landlord."

"Oh," she said, shaking her head, "I couldn't. I'll just stay with–"

"Mom," Priestly shook his head. "You don't know this yet, but there's no point arguing." He smirked, shooting Trucker a grateful look just before Trucker turned and headed for Leo's porch.

"The electricity and water are already on," Trucker explained over his shoulder as he fit the key into the lock. "Leo never turned them off. He's been away in Texas for a few years, but he always kept thinking he'd be back any minute. Leo said if you pay the electric and water, you're welcome to make yourself at home for as long as you need."

Priestly just put his hand on her shoulder and with a gentle push, guided her inside. He was well accustomed to the whole "it takes a village" approach that Trucker and his friends took to life. He realized he'd become part of the same mindset…from the way he'd helped Leo repair the vandalism to the way he'd pitched in to load Sally and Scooter's furniture into the moving van they'd hired a man to drive for them. Zo's place. Well, maybe he couldn't count that since he got paid. Jen's dancing partner. He smiled down at his mother as she looked around Leo's tidy house with its surfing and coastal themed décor with tears in her eyes.

"Of course," she said. "I can do that. But it's just so much. We're total strangers," she said, baffled.

"Doesn't work that way," Priestly said, unable to explain. She'd understand it all soon enough, and then they'd have another villager.

* * *

_October 10, 2005_

Priestly counted out hundred dollar bills into Rawley's hand. When he laid the last one in Rawley's palm, the older man handed him a ring with two keys on it. They each signed the back of the title where indicated, and the notary nodded and signed and stamped it, too.

"Thanks, man," Rawley said, shaking his hand as if they'd never met before.

"Sure," Priestly nodded, grinning.

It was a 1963 Chevy Nova. At one time it had been a glossy red but after time and lack of a new paint job it was a matte reddish orange. The bench front seat, once a cream vinyl with red trim, was covered in a saddle blanket style seat cover. But Rawley had rebuilt the engine from scratch in the late 90's and the car ran fine, which was all Priestly cared about. He was tired of the bus and aching for his own wheels, and now he had them.

"Take good care of her," Rawley said, straddling his Harley.

Priestly nodded and waved with the hand holding the title. He watched Rawley rumble off before climbing into the old car, enjoying the squeaky groan of the driver's door and the sound it made as it closed. The other very cool thing about Rawley's overhaul was that he put a new stereo system in. That new system was now considerably outdated, but it was far better than the old crap bush button AM shit the original vehicle had.

He cranked up a metal station and, with the windows rolled down, took his first drive. He had no destination, he just drove until he decided he was tired of driving. This, conveniently, was a pullout in Big Sur, about an hour and a half to the south. He sat on the hood of his car and snapped a photo of himself with his phone. He turned the other way and snapped himself with the ocean as his backdrop. He texted both of them to himself and then, as an afterthought, to Jen and Miller. They'd been forced to listen to him excitement about the car for the last week at work, so he figured they deserved to see the results.

As he was driving back, his phone signaled a text. He nearly picked it up to look at it but noticed a squad car not far behind in his rearview. He left the phone alone. When he pulled into the driveway at home, he pulled up the message.

Teasingly, Jen texted back with a photo of herself in her Honda, but she wrote: 'Congrats on your new car!' She rolled her eyes at text shorthand, which made Priestly smile. He sent her random texts out of the blue once in a while, making sure they were full of shorthand. Tongue in cheek, she'd write him text novels in reply about mundane crap she knew he wouldn't dignify with a response. Unless, of course, it was ROTFLMAO or ZZZ.

Miller's reply showed up three hours later as Priestly was zoning out in front of the TV for the first time in weeks and was simply "FTW!"

He grinned and dropped the phone on the futon beside him.

* * *

_December 26, 2005_

"What are you looking for this time?" Rex asked him as he stood scouring the wall mounted flip panels full of tattoos.

Priestly flipped back to the panel that held the tattoo he wanted. "This one," he pointed.

Rex grinned. "The Borneo scorpion, huh? Know what it means?"

"Well," Priestly joked, "I haven't been headhunting lately."

Rex laughed. "Good thing. But it also means courage and is used traditionally to protect the bearer from malevolent spirits."

"That too," he nodded. He'd seen images and read about it on the internet.

"Where?" Rex asked curiously.

He'd been thinking about it, actually, since he'd decided on the design. He hadn't been sure the shop would have one and had brought a small printout for Rex to enlarge and create if they didn't. He'd considered having it done across his throat. Truthfully, he wasn't sure he could stand the pain of that.

"I'm thinking along here," Priestly said, sweeping his finger over the side of his neck, sort of behind his left ear stretching downward.

Rex nodded. "That's gonna look great. How big?"

"Let's check it out the size it is on the wall first, but maybe a little bigger."

"You know that one will probably hurt worse than the four you've gotten on your arms combined, right?"

Priestly grimaced and nodded. "So I've been reading," he agreed. "The forearms didn't really hurt much. They itched mostly. But the uppers…" he shook his head.

"Well, this one will hurt. No bones about it. And it's a little more expensive because of the angle. I'm the only artist in this shop who will do one, actually, because they're a pain in the neck."

Priestly smirked back at him and said, "Bah dum bum!"

Rex dipped his head, grinning wider when Priestly got the pun. They kicked around pricing. Rex started very high and Priestly haggled as expected until Rex came down to a price he could live with.

They played around with the size and orientation until Priestly was satisfied, and then Rex positioned the stencil version carefully.

"Alright, man, last call," Rex said, holding a mirror up to his neck.

"Yeah," Priestly nodded, "that's perfect. Go."

_Oh, my God._ That was his first thought as the needle hit his neck and his eyes watered. He took care to breathe deeply as Rex kept reminding him, thinking all the while that it was a fucking good thing he'd opted against his throat. It was all he could do not to scream like a girl. Rex had to keep reminding him to relax his jaw, too, because clenching it like he naturally wanted to do was going to mess up the tat.

Good thing he'd had a couple shots in the bar next door before going into the shop. He was tense as hell already, and the pain was something else entirely. His arms had been a cake walk compared to this. He kept waiting for the itchy sting to set in which would overtake and dull the pain. It seemed to take forever, but once it did, he heard Rex chuckle.

"You're finally in the zone, huh, dude?"

"Mmmm," he agreed, amazed at how he could go from wanting to climb the walls to wanting to fall asleep. But the needle was almost pleasant now, in a bizarre sort of way.

"It was like a friggin' light switch, dude," Rex commented. "Just _flick!_ That fast. Tight to melt."

"Mmmm," Priestly answered, drifting.

He didn't fall completely asleep because every now and then Rex would hit a spot and he'd feel a flash of that "just getting started" pain and go all tense again. Rex would back off and he'd breathe and then Rex would try again, usually successfully.

Because of the stops and starts, it took longer than Priestly expected. He almost fell asleep for real when Rex applied the hot towel after the cleanup. He loved that part. The pain was over, and the heat was relaxing and felt good. He jumped when the flash of a camera went off. Rex's laugh boomed across the shop.

"You're the only person who's almost fallen asleep during a neck tat. I can't figure you out," Rex shook his head. "You suffered worse the last time you were here, I think." The last time he was there he'd gotten his left bicep done.

Priestly shrugged. "You couldn't tell I was weird just by looking at me?" he joked.

Rex smirked at him. "Alright, man," he said, reaching for the Tattoo Goo, "let's finish you off and bandage you up."

"Sounds good," he agreed.

* * *

_December 30, 2005_

"Hey, Priestly," Miller said as Priestly entered the grill, "we're playing at Nickel Joe's tomorrow night to rock in the New Year. You up?"

"I'm up," Priestly agreed, heading for the back room. When he came out, he asked, "What about you, Jen?"

"I'm up, too," she nodded.

* * *

_December 31, 2005_

"Hey, man, sorry for the short notice," Mike said when Priestly answered his cell. "Patrick and Kelly and I were thinking about a little New Year's bash. Thought I'd ask if you wanted to tag along."

"Sorry, Mike," he said. "I'm already spoken for," he joked. "Bunch of us are going to be at Nickel Joe's again. A guy I work with is in the band that's playing. I told him I'd come out and help them work on their fan base. If you guys don't have a place in mind, maybe you could swing by."

"What kind of music?"

"Metal and alternative. Some covers, some original."

"Sweet. Maybe we'll come by."

"They go on around nine."

"Alright man. If I don't see you, have an awesome New Year."

"You, too."

Priestly checked the time on his phone, then groaned and got up from the futon. Leo's yard needed mowing and the flower beds weeding. His mother liked to garden and had offered to help with that part, but he'd told her he was supposed to do it to earn the discounted rent. He wasn't sure how Leo would feel if he found out Priestly's mom was slaving away in the garden.

Priestly threw on his yard work clothes and headed down, glad that Trucker had closed the shop for both New Year's Eve and New Year's. They didn't get too many holidays, and Trucker worked six days a week each week with barely a sick day. The guy deserved to shut down once in a while.

Mowing what he affectionately called Leo's "back 40" took a good hour once he did the edging in the areas the mower couldn't go. He was just heading toward the front of the house to weed the flower beds when his mother stepped out onto the back patio with two glasses.

"Come have some water, honey," she called. She was always chiding him about not drinking enough when he was working outside.

Grudgingly, he wandered over to the patio and sat down next to his mother.

"What are you doing home?" he asked. "I thought you'd be at work."

"Since tomorrow's Saturday, we get today of for New Year's."

"Right," he nodded. He hadn't thought about how things would work in the corporate world. She'd tried to get hired on at one of the Baptist churches, but none even called for an interview. She'd put her resume up on some websites, though, and almost right away an insurance company called her to interview for a position as an administrative assistant to some VP or another.

He'd gotten over how strange it was having his mother live right next door. The new weird was that he'd caught his mother on the phone with Leo several times, back before she'd started her new job. The first time he'd noticed it was at the beginning of October when he went over to do his regular monthly check up. Even though he was sure his mother would tell him if anything was wrong, he still checked the faucets for leaks that meant worn out washers. He flushed the toilets to make sure they didn't run afterward. He checked the filters for the air conditioner but they were still brand new looking since no one had been there and his mother likely hadn't needed to run the air more than two or three times. He'd heard the phone ring while he was wandering around the house. When he passed through the living room on his way out, he'd heard her laughing. She'd had nothing to laugh about for a long time, or so it felt. The sound was a bit foreign to him. When he asked her later about it, she'd said it was just Leo. When he'd asked what Leo wanted, she shrugged.

"He's called a few times just to ask how I'm doing, if I'm settling in okay, if I need to know anything about anything in the house or in the area." Not knowing what to make of that, Priestly told her if she did need anything, he was the maintenance man. She'd smiled at him. "I know. Leo told me that already. He told me I did a nice job raising you," she'd said bashfully, color rising in her cheeks. "You know," she'd continued, "I think he's lonely over there in Texas. He sounds like he's homesick."

Priestly hadn't known what to say to that. "His dad's sick. He'd probably be here if it wasn't for that."

His mother nodded. "He said something like that the other day. That man loves his daddy," she said with a sigh. "It breaks my heart because it sounds like he'll pass away soon."

Priestly didn't tell her they'd all thought it would be "any day now" for the last two years, pretty much since he'd met Leo. He just wondered if his mother would be ready to find a new place when that happened, because Leo would surely come back to California shortly after. Priestly would move her in to his apartment, of course. He just didn't know if his mother realized how quickly she might get uprooted again.

* * *

_December 30, 2005_

Priestly picked Jen up at eight-thirty, though she'd protested that it should be his turn to drink and her turn to be the DD.

"I'm high on life," he shrugged, grinning at her. "You still need a little juice to loosen up."

She blushed a little at that, and he felt bad. He hadn't meant to embarrass her. She lifted her own shoulders and said, "Maybe someday it'll come as easily for me as it does for you."

"It will once you realize that everybody else is too busy worrying about themselves to worry about what you're doing."

She gave him a look and shook her head, but she seemed to consider what he said.

He tried to buy her a shot, but she wouldn't let him.

"Tonight, I'm buying your drinks and my own drinks."

He didn't argue.

They were just finishing the first round as Standoff ran through their sound check. Miller wandered over to greet them since part of his role was to move around the house to check the sound in all the different nooks and crannies.

"Hey, guys," he said, hopping up on the empty barstool on the other side of Jen. "What's shakin'?"

Priestly grinned and joked, "Jen."

She elbowed him and rolled her eyes.

"Aw, Jenny'll be okay," Miller joked. "She was fine last time. No zombie dancing."

Jen laughed as Miller recounted a tale about a couple of guys at that gig who rampaged all over the dance floor like a couple lost members from the Thriller video. He gave a thumbs up to the band as they played a few random bars to check the levels. He got up shortly after.

"Gotta check the other side of the house," he said, nodding at them.

They waved at him and together, watched him go.

"See?" Jen asked him. "That's proof that people _do _watch you dance. _And_ they judge."

Priestly smirked. "Ok, so they notice. But not everyone judges."

After hellos were exchanged and Jen's friends commented on his new tattoo, Priestly had them all out on the dance floor. Jen had improved over time. Not her dancing, which was fine to begin with. Her ability to get out there and dance with less lubrication had improved. Priestly was able to duck off of the dance floor a few times. Miller's band was good. Really good. Like, what the hell are you doing playing in places like this? good. The dance floor was busy.

Priestly ducked off the floor again at about a quarter to twelve. He wanted to see if the current group of guys dancing with Jen, Sherri, and Sam would kiss the girls at midnight. He thought he'd better stay out of the way. He turned to head to the bar to grab another Coke and saw Mike, Patrick, and Kelly come through the door.

And Jude.


	42. Bodies

_December 30, 2005_

He couldn't pretend he hadn't seen her, considering his eyes locked on hers. He suddenly felt the tremendous awkwardness that comes with knowing you've been ignoring someone else's attempts to communicate. Her emails continued to get deposited into the 'Jude' folder in his Gmail account. Her rare calls, which stopped for a while and then randomly would start again, went on unanswered.

So instead he waited as they approached, feeling a bit like a sitting duck. As luck would have it, the band started in on a ballad, making it possible to hear one another. He lifted his chin at Mike, who tipped his in reply and then slapped his shoulder and veered off to the bar. He and Patrick exchanged the same nods, and he grinned at Kelly.

"Hey, Kel," he said, grinning even wider when he saw her notice his new tattoo.

"Wow, that's badass!" she said. She had a butterfly on the back of her neck, under her hair. "Hurt, though, I bet."

"Hell yeah," he laughed. "It hurt a lot at first, but then it sort of tapered off. I totally forgot you have one on the back of your neck." He shook his head. "How'd you stand it?"

"She nearly bit my fingers off, that's how," Patrick smirked, laughing as Kelly elbowed him in the ribs.

"Jude," he said quietly, not missing the fact that Patrick and Kelly exchanged a loaded look before excusing themselves for the bar.

"Priestly," she said, equally subdued. They just stood looking at one another for a long moment. "How've you been?" She finally asked.

He nodded. "I'm good. You?"

She shrugged. They stood looking at each other awkwardly for several moments. There was a strange expression on her face. He'd once known everything about her face…every look, every subtle nuance. It had been over a year now since he'd told her not to come knocking, and she hadn't. She'd emailed and phoned, but he hadn't laid eyes on her since the summer of 2004.

There was no longer even a hint of black at the ends of her hair. It was all blonde now, as long as before but without the black. Her eyes…that was what made her face different. Those tea colored eyes weren't the same. There was something stark in them. He couldn't ask her, but he wanted to know what had done that to them. And then he looked away, realizing he was staring and about two seconds from making things unbearably uncomfortable.

But she was still Jude, still bold. "You haven't answered my emails or my calls," she said. There was no note of accusation. Just flat fact with an undertone of pain, a little knife that twisted, anyway, as though it were a pointing finger.

He nodded and lifted one shoulder a little, glancing at the dance floor to find Jen. She was dancing with a guy. He almost smiled but didn't want Jude to think he was pleased that his refusal to acknowledge her dug deep. He didn't feel good about hurting her, and he knew he hurt her. He dragged his eyes back to her. "Thought it was better that way," he said as softly as a person could when a band was playing. "I couldn't keep doing that…dance," he finished, not quite finding the right word for what he wanted to say.

It was her turn to nod. "Yeah," she said. "I was unfair, hoping you would just keep waiting for me." She admitted, looking down for a minute. She snorted. "Like a dog tied up outside the supermarket," she said, almost to herself, her arms folding across her chest. He tried not to follow them with his eyes, tried not to look at her chest. He tried not to look at her body at all, but the dress she wore was something else. Red, of course, because she looked amazing in it. It smoothed over her, cut low enough to tease but not embarrass. The hemline was the same…the perfect place to end a skirt so that a girl appeared more sexy than slutty. With her long legs, she didn't need the illusion that heels gave, but she wore them anyway and as a result was almost as tall as he.

He didn't know what to say to that, to her chained dog comment, so he said nothing. He just looked at her, drank her in as the last chorus of the ballad swirled around them. She looked back, something wistful and hungry in her eyes as she roved over the right forearm tattoo, the nose piercing, and the two ear piercings he'd gotten without her. And finally she took her own look at the neck tattoo. He unintentionally helped her, turning his head to the right to track a crashing sound behind the bar. And then the last note of the song faded and the frontman yelled,

"Holy shit, kids, it's eleven fifty-five! Five minutes to 2006 and counting!"

The band did a little metal riff of Auld Lange Syne that made the crowd cheer.

"Let's set off the New Year right, hey? Who likes to rock and roll?"

Of course, the crowd went nuts.

"Who likes to rock and roll all night?"

More cheering.

"Who likes to party every day?!" The band didn't wait for an answer before starting up the last song of 2005.

He glanced over at the dance floor again, saw Jen nodding up at the guy she'd been slow dancing with. She gave him one of her quirky half smiles and began jamming out to the Kiss cover. Priestly glanced back at Jude. Fuck if didn't still want her. But that was just attraction, just physical chemistry, he told himself. Lust. Because he felt dangerously close to opening a door better left shut (or trying to, anyway), he gave her a small smile and said,

"I should probably go find my group."

They didn't need him, they were doing just fine without him. He wished he wasn't the DD. If he wasn't, he could wait for midnight, exchange the Happy New Year crap, and duck out early. He wanted to put as much space between himself and Jude as possible, lest he get any more chances to open that door. Like a kid with one last Christmas present sitting wrapped in front of him, Priestly knew if given the chance, he'd tear into that enticing mystery. He'd be unable to last against the desire.

Still standing inches away from him, Jude nodded and smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. He felt another little twist at the blatant sadness, the disappointment he saw in them. "Take care of yourself, Priestly," she said lightly, looking toward the bar in search of Mike, Patrick, and Kelly.

"You, too," he echoed. For a second he thought she might lean in to hug or kiss him, but apparently, thankfully, she thought better of it and merely stepped to the side so he could pass by on his way to the dance floor.

A few moments later, the song ended, the clock struck midnight, and when he turned around, Cinderella had vanished. He watched couples everywhere around him embrace and kiss. He grinned in spite of himself as the guy dancing with Jen pressed his mouth to hers for something longer than a peck but not even PG. No tongue. The sight of it kept him from trying to search out Jude.

* * *

_January 1__st__, 2006_

"What happened?" Jen asked as he started his car.

Priestly glanced over at her. "What?"

She gave him a look. "With Jude. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Just said hello to each other."

"Priestly…" she said, watching him. He knew she was calling bullshit.

He frowned and turned out of the parking lot. "A while ago Mike asked me if Jude ever called me. I lied and said no. But she's never stopped emailing and calling. For a long time I just deleted the emails and didn't answer the phone. I saw Mike again later, and he called me on it, asked me why I didn't answer her. So after that I started saving the emails without opening them. They've just been sitting in a folder in my computer. I still don't pick up the phone when I don't recognize the number. She hasn't tried to call much. Not as often as she's tried emailing." He sighed.

"Maybe you should read them," Jen suggested.

Maybe he should. Or maybe not. Probably not. It was probably better left alone. He said the last part aloud.

"Or maybe you should read them," Jen said again.

"Maybe," he admitted, sighing. "It's just…she had this look. She looked…" He searched for the right word.

"She looked…?" She repeated when he didn't finish his sentence.

"I don't know. Sad. Broken. It was…" he searched again. "It was bad." He turned down Jen's street. When he pulled up near her apartment, she hesitated, her hand holding the passenger door open.

"Do you think you've changed in a year?" she asked.

"Sure," he nodded. He knew where she was going with it, but he let her say it, anyway.

"Maybe Jude has, too."

He thought about that all the way home.

* * *

_January 1, 2006_

He woke up after noon, which was unusual even considering he'd gotten home at almost two in the morning and had tossed and turned until nearly five.

Priestly sat down in front of the laptop, munching on a bowl of cereal. He brought up his email and clicked on the folder named "Jude". He finished his cereal staring at the eleven emails he'd collected from July 2005 until the most recent one on Christmas day. Eleven emails in five months. He'd probably deleted that many back before he'd started saving them. The bowl empty, he sat it on the desk and dropped his spoon in it so that it clinked loudly.

He closed his browser without opening even one.

* * *

_February 26, 2006_

"Holy crap!" Priestly exclaimed, ducking into the grill and out of the vicious, slashing rain that suddenly besieged Santa Cruz. "Light showers my ass!" He held out his arms and looked down at his white _Tip Me or Die_ t-shirt. He looked like he was a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest, and he'd only had to walk around from where he'd parked out back. Trucker had started keeping the back door locked after someone wandered in and started looking around for stuff to steal. Luckily, Trucker had stepped out of the subzero in time to catch a glimpse of the guy's back as he fled empty handed.

Trucker cracked a smile at him, peering over his reading glasses. Jen peeked around the laptop with a smirk.

He made his usual rounds, tipping chins with the construction guys who were just finishing up, greeting Mel Shipley, who was still waiting for his order, saying hi to Lucille, and giving Bam Bam a scratch. When he wandered into the prep area, tying his apron, Joe rolled his eyes in greeting as usual. Priestly had mostly ceased to react in any way to the guy, but every now and then he still just wanted to put the guy through the wall. Today was one of those days.

Maybe it was the weather. Priestly didn't mind rain once in a while, but this was day three of what the weatherman kept saying was "one of those systems that moves so slowly and back builds on itself and just sticks around so long you think it's going to stay forever". Yet he promised clearing by Wednesday at the latest. Given that it was Sunday now, Priestly thought by Wednesday, if it took that long, he'd either end up unable to crawl out of bed or irritable enough to cause someone grievous bodily harm. Even Trucker was complaining, because this system made it impossible to surf instead of facilitating it.

Of course, it could just be that Joe was a huge asshat. That could be it, too. He and Joe exchanged barbs all afternoon. Their exchanges grew more and more heated until finally Trucker told Priestly to go on a supply run. But even with the slicker Trucker lent him, he still got wet and returned crankier than he left.

After putting the much needed TP in the bathrooms and the emergency mustard in place at the cold station, Priestly glanced around at the other stations and the sink. Everything was well stocked, and there were no dirties that needed washing. Must have been a slow day with all the rain. With no orders and with Joe scraping down what little muck there was on the grill from that morning, he leaned on his elbows on the front counter and decided to poke at Jen a little.

"So, what's up with Alex?" he asked, referring to the guy she'd danced with most of the night before. They'd gone to see Miller's band again, this time at a place called The Smoking Gun.

She glanced at him, frowning, and shrugged listlessly. She said nothing.

Disappointment fouled his mood even more. "Jen…" he said, leaning toward her, "what's the deal? You guys were rockin' out all night last night." He looked up. "Speaking of, where's Miller?"

"Trucker said he could leave since we're dead," she shrugged.

When she didn't answer his first question, he understood that she didn't really want to go over it, why things failed to go anywhere with Alex. That one puzzled him because he'd really thought they clicked. Alex had been sneaking looks at Jen, and she'd been sneaking looks at him. Priestly waited for a few songs to see if either of them would make a move, but neither one did. They seemed like they'd hit it off if either one of them ever got up the nerve to talk. The guy had been wearing a shirt that read, _When life is crashing down on you, check for missing semicolons, _for chrissakes!

Finally, Priestly wandered past the table he was at with two other guys and asked, "Have you guys seen a tall blonde, nose ring, long legs, probably wearing a red shirt?"

"Nah, man," one of them said, chugging his beer.

"You?" Priestly asked the guy whose name, he'd learn later, was Alex.

"Nope," he said.

"Shoot," he sighed, feigning disappointment. "Stood up again. Ah, well," he shrugged and grinned, hoping that if the guy was the sort of smart his shirt implied, he'd realize what that meant. Priestly wasn't _with_ Jen though he'd been dancing with her. It seemed to work, because a couple songs later he came over to their table, introduced himself as Alex, and shyly asked Jen if she wanted to dance.

"Jen, I don't get it," he said now, choosing to press the issue instead of letting it drop. "You were having an awesome time, he was having an awesome time. Did he ask for your number?"

She shook her head.

"Did you ask for his?"

Another head shake.

He put his face down on the counter. "Jen, there's no law against asking for a guy's number. If you think there's a connection…No, fuck that, when there's an _obviou_s connection, just go for it. Worst that can happen is you get shot down, which sucks, but c'mon! Jen!"

Priestly wrapped his arms around her from behind and jokingly rocked her back and forth before pretending to strangle her. She grinned in spite of herself, looking abashed. "I know, I know," she sighed. "I just–″

"No," Priestly cut her off, shifting to lean backwards on his elbows so he could look her fully in the face. "No I just. Just put your big girl britches on next time and just ask before you have time to change your mind or start talking yourself out of it."

Joe snorted. "Jen, don't listen to anything Priestly has to say." When Jen looked back at him and Priestly glowered, Joe said earnestly, "That's like the blind leading the blind. He's a disaster with women. Why would you take advice from him?"

Priestly folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head. "What makes you the expert, then, Josie? What big romance have you got going on?"

Joe sneered at him derisively. "All I'm saying is at least I ain't got one girl running to some all girls college in Pennsylvania and another one OD'ing in the john to get away from me."

That fucking did it. Both the words themselves and the smug expression as Joe saw him flinch just a little. "You motherfucker," Priestly growled, "I told you before not to talk about shit you know nothing about." He shoved Joe.

Joe tossed down the spatula he was holding and shoved him back. Priestly slipped a little on grease that spattered on the floor from the spatula, which had most recently been used to turn several cheesesteaks. Joe shoved him again before he could recover. Priestly slid on the grease again, and his right arm struck the hot grill before he could catch himself. Ignoring the white hot pain that made his eyes water, Priestly punched him full on in the face. Only when Joe reeled did he lift his arm to look at it.

"Hey, Priestly," Jen said, moving toward him with wide eyes, "are you–"

Joe, having straightened, shoved her back against the front counter to lunge at him. Priestly decked him again, growling,

"What's the matter with you? You don't need to fucking shove her like that! What'd she ever do to you?"

Jen tried to separate them. Priestly held back, not wanting to hit her by mistake. It left Joe an opening to clock Priestly. Stepping back to try to keep his balance, his foot caught the fallen spatula this time and he crashed into one leg of the large wheeled cart that served as the cold station, the base of his skull causing a loud clang to ring out across the grill. It did him no harm, the leg being a hollowed tube of steel. It was a heavy, sturdy piece of mobile furniture, but the wheels allowed it to give with the impact, clunking against the back wall instead of rendering him unconscious. Still, he stayed where he was as Trucker herded Joe into the back room saying,

"Okay, man, you're done…"

Jen crouched beside him with worried eyes, and picked up the spatula. She held it in one hand and rubbed the floor with a damp bar towel. "Are you okay, Priestly?"

He nodded , glancing toward the back room. "Are you?"

She looked puzzled. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Priestly carefully got up, wondering if she'd gotten all the grease or if he'd end up on his ass again. Glancing at his flaming red forearm, he said, "I better take care of this."

Now that the immediate threat was contained, he became aware of searing, throbbing, stinging heat. He swore as his arm jerked involuntarily when he put as much of it as he could under the faucet and ran cold water over it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he hissed, stomping his left foot at the intense, angry throbbing. "Stupid fucking asshat!" he grumbled, breathing heavily as the waves of pain slowly subsided into just stinging.

A good five minutes later, when it became obvious that the stinging was as good as it was going to get and no further benefit would be had, he turned off the tap and grabbed a handful of paper towels. Very gently, he patted his arm dry, wincing a little at the mild throbbing that returned because of the stimulation. Muttering to himself about what he wanted to do to Joe, he yanked open the men's room door and made his way back behind the counter.

He glanced up as the front door opened. Trucker chose that moment to step out of the back room as well. Priestly grinned at Zo, who'd been holding a folded newspaper over her head to little effect and was now fluffing her damp red locks. Trucker touched the back of his arm, a silent indication that he wanted a look at the damage. Priestly lifted his arm and Zo's eyes immediately went to the burn.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes searching all of their faces, her voice as melodic and calm as always. He lifted his left shoulder.

"Had a little accident," he said darkly. "Burned it on the grill."

"I have something that will help that," she said. "If you'll make me a cold veggie sub, I'll just go over to the store and get it. I'll be right back."

Priestly and Trucker watched her go. As soon as she was halfway across the street, Trucker muttered to himself, "Umbrella…" And then, Priestly's elbow still propped in his palm, he grimaced. "That had to hurt." Trucker released his arm and disappeared into the back room again.

Priestly didn't answer. He just watched Jen prepare the veggie sub, layer after layer of green, red, purple, yellow, orange and white before spreading a light layer of tahini lemon dressing on the top half of a whole wheat roll. Zo ducked into the shop, a little wetter though she'd tried using fresh newspaper. In her free hand she held a little pot of some sort of remedy.

"Come here," she gestured. Obediently, he came to the end of the counter and offered up his forearm, bending his elbow. Twisting the cap off the jar, she dipped one index finger into the mixture and gently spread the mystery balm over the burn. "I'm going to leave this jar with you. Put it on the burn twice a day for three days. Four if it still bothers you."

He nodded. "Thanks," he said. "It feels better already."

Trucker appeared beside him with the first aid kit. He pulled out a couple bandages and said, "These are telfas. They won't stick to the burn." Zo watched as he bandaged Priestly's arm, then accepted her sandwich from Jen. Trucker waved off the bill she offered. "Thanks for the salve," he said with a smile.

She simply smiled back in her mysterious way, nodded, and disappeared with her sandwich. Seconds after the door closed, Trucker groaned,

"Umbrella!"

Priestly and Jen laughed. Priestly patted his shoulder. "It's okay, Truck. You'll get it next time."

Trucker seemed to come out of his daze, shaking himself a little. "Ok, gang, team meeting."

Priestly and Jen looked at him expectantly.

"Joe's no longer with us," Trucker announced unnecessarily. "Any extra hours you can work would be appreciated, until we can find a new a.m. griller. I know you both have school, so I might be out of luck. I'll ask Miller if he knows anyone who needs a job."

"Well," Priestly said, "now that I have a car I can probably come in earlier. Like noon? My classes are over by ten." He hated getting up for them in the morning, but having a few hours for homework in between class and the grill was nice. He'd just have to condense his study time for a little while.

Jen nodded. "I only have class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays this semester, so I can work open to close on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just until you find someone for the morning shift."

"I promise I'll find someone as fast as I can."

Priestly snorted. "Famous last words, Truck."

Trucker sighed, probably because he knew Priestly was right. Priestly didn't care. He was glad Josie was gone. He wanted to kick up his heels and run around the restaurant singing, "Ding, Dong, the witch is dead!" but he figured it was probably not the best idea. Instead, he sang it to himself, in his head, and had a hard time wiping the grin off his face for the rest of the night.


	43. Maneater

_March 23, 2006_

Trucker frowned. He was missing $126.15 somewhere in the books for the shop. It wouldn't be the first time he'd miscalculated or forgotten to log an expense. The trouble was figuring out where. When. It was a very good thing that every time he balanced the books, he put a little star next to the last entry that balanced so he didn't have to wade through an entire year or several months at a time. Still, it was a pain for someone whose strong suits were not bookkeeping or organization. This fact alone was probably why he had to spend so much time balancing the books…because it was such a challenge for him.

He was still puzzling over it, half listening to Priestly banter back and forth with Michael and the construction crew at the counter as they placed their orders, when the door opened again and the sounds of an argument spilled inside.

"You said you were hungry, so let's just eat here and then maybe you can stop acting like a jerk," a female voice said.

"Or maybe I'll stop acting like a jerk when you get off the rag or whatever's got you so bitchy," came the retort.

"Hey," the female protested, her voice growing louder as she stepped inside, "don't go blaming this on hormones. I already told you how much I hate it when you act all jealous and possessive. I went out with Melissa and Jody last night just like I said, but you had to go and follow us and spy on us to make sure I wasn't hooking up with someone along the way. You know what they say," she lowered her voice as she noticed Trucker watching her. He still heard the rest, though. "a guilty conscience points the finger at others to keep suspicion off themselves. So maybe I should start following _you _around, huh?"

Trucker studied them. Classic scenario…gorgeous young female with a very nice figure meets good looking young male asshole for fun and games. It proved his theory that two beautiful people were almost always doomed from the start. Either they were too shallow or too self absorbed to make it. That was generally how it went, with very few exceptions. He looked back down at his figures but couldn't help listening for the guy's response.

"You know what?" he said, shaking his head, backing toward the door, "I'm tired of this. Tired of you. We're done." Kicking open the door with one sneakered foot, he shoved his sunglasses back on. "Bye, Tish."

Trucker looked at her. She was staring out the door after the guy, slack mouthed as if she were surprised. As if she wasn't used to being dumped, which, given her looks, she probably wasn't. She looked annoyed, but also just a little hurt, which surprised Trucker. The look passed quickly as she resolutely skinned her long auburn hair back and whipped it quickly into a messy bun, securing it with an elastic she'd been wearing around her wrist.

He glanced out the window as a truck squealed around the corner. The girl, Tish, watched it go, her expression darkening. She reached down for something and her face quickly changed as she realized that whatever it was wasn't there. She darted out the door calling, "Hey! Ryan!" Her arms went up, but either the guy didn't see her or chose to ignore her, racing past her toward Mesa. Dipping her head back as if to ask the universe what she ever did to deserve it, she sighed heavily, tipping her head the other way to look momentarily at her feet. Trucker smiled a little. He understood that sort of emotion…that "Oh, my God, why me?" defeat. He watched her come back into the shop.

Instead of getting in line for a sandwich, she stepped over to him at the register desk. Trucker gave her an easy grin. She smiled back at him beseechingly, the sort of face a woman used when she wanted something and thought she needed to pour a little sugar on to get it. "I don't suppose I could use your phone? Just a local call," she added quickly.

"Sure, c'mon around," he gestured. The handset would reach all the way to the front door on the extra long cord, but that meant he'd have to dial for her.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, looking relieved. Maybe she didn't assume she'd always get what she wanted, after all. She dialed a number then waited impatiently for someone to answer, fiddling nervously with the phone cord. "Melanie? Ryan took off on me." She waited a beat, listening. "I don't know." She stood up taller and her body tensed.

Trucker knew he should mind his own business, but curiosity won out. Apparently, it won out for Jen and Priestly, too, as her voice rose a little. "_I _didn't do anything. You know how he is." She rolled her eyes, oblivious to her audience. "Look, can you just come pick me up? It's a place called the…" she looked around. Trucker held up a menu, which mostly no one ever used. She flashed him an awkward smile as she realized it meant he was listening. "...Beach City Grill. It's on 6th between Nelson and Mesa." Her face darkened and grew indignant. "Wait. _What?_" She looked shocked. "You're _what?!_ You're seeing Ryan? _My_ Ryan? When did that start?"

Trucker caught a glimpse of pain before she ducked her head a little and turned to look out the window, hiding her face. He exchanged looks with Jen and Priestly, their faces likely mirroring his own…sheepish. Ashamed for listening when the girl's life was suddenly exploding into chaos before her eyes. Priestly looked torn between open curiosity and guilt. Guilt must have won out because he moved to the opposite end of the counter, grabbed the dish pan, and went out to look for tables to bus. Jen returned her attention to the laptop.

Trucker tried to stop listening. He started to get up to move to the newly vacated back booth to finish with his bookkeeping, but the couple from that booth brought their ticket up to the register, forcing him to stay to ring them up.

"Melanie, you know I'm broke," Tish said. "How am I supposed to move out in two weeks? Melanie," she pleaded. "You know I'm good for it, I always am. Look, fine, date Ryan, I don't care. We obviously weren't getting along, anyway, but at least give me a month to find–″ She looked skyward again. "Sure. I get it. Fuck you both, then. Tell Ryan to get his ass back over here and either give me my purse or a ride back to your place so I can start packing up my stuff." She shook her head, glowering now. Apparently the girl on the other end said something that annoyed her because she rolled her eyes again. "Because it's in his truck, and he took off with it and if he doesn't bring it back, I can't get there, and if I can't get there I can't get out of there, now can I?" she snapped. She hung up the phone and then rested her forehead on it for a second.

Trucker watched the couple he'd just cashed out leave, and then he turned to look at the girl, Tish, who was just lifting her head off the phone. She turned and gave him another of her imploring smiles. Wincing a little, she asked,

"I don't suppose you have a phone book, do you?"

He wordlessly reached under the register and handed the thick business volume to her. She stood holding it in her hands, her eyes flicking past him to the help wanted sign in the window. After Miller quit the week before to focus on all the new gigs his band was booking, Priestly stomped over to the window and grabbed the help wanted sign and stomped back over to the counter. After fishing out a Sharpie, he wrote in the white box, '"NORMAL" PEOPLE NEED NOT APPLY', underlining "not" four times. And then he marched it back to the window and taped it back up. When Trucker gave him a questioning look, he groused,

"With the exception of Miller, the last several people seemed normal and turned out to be anything but. Maybe we'll get the opposite now."

Trucker fought a smile and stared pointedly at Priestly.

"I'm the exception, Truck," he retorted, "not the rule."

Now, tilting her head at him, Tish said, "Any girl who can manage to break up with her roommate and her boyfriend—two different people, mind you—in a single phone call can't possibly be normal."

Trucker nodded thoughtfully. "True," he conceded.

"Do you have an application?" Tish asked.

He leaned back against the counter. "Well," he sighed, "given that we're not normal, ourselves, the process is a little different." Looking over at Jen and Priestly, he called, "Guys, we have an applicant!"

Priestly, having long finished bussing tables, looked up from scraping the grill. Jen looked up from the laptop, where she was working on homework during the lull.

"Who wants to go first?" Trucker asked.

"What's yah phone numbah?" Michael called out from the construction crew's booth at the front.

"Nice try," Trucker called. To Tish, he said, "Don't answer that one."

She smirked, turning to look at Michael. When she turned back around, her eyebrows went up as if to say she'd liked what she'd seen.

"Elvis…dead or alive?" Trucker asked. He didn't just ask it because it was quirky. He asked it because a person's reaction to it told him a lot about who he might be dealing with.

"Hiding," Tish replied steadily.

"Michael Jackson…innocent or guilty?" Priestly asked, openly eager for her answer.

"The truth is usually stranger than fiction," Tish shrugged. It didn't actually answer the question, but Trucker thought her evasive maneuver was so clever, he let it slide.

"Van Halen or Van Hagar?" Jen asked. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but she was a fan.

Tish considered it for a moment. "They didn't hit number one on the charts until Sammy joined, but David Lee Roth was more charismatic." After a short silence, she added, "Hagar had the better voice, though, and I like more Van Hagar songs than Van Halen songs…so Van Hagar, I guess."

Jen looked a little sick. Priestly laughed at her "oh, no" expression. For the first time, Tish looked a little uncertain.

"Can you work 10:30 to 3 five days a week, sometimes weekends?" Trucker asked.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Ok. Time to vote," Trucker said. "All in favor of hiring Tish?"

Jen and Priestly put their hands up along with Trucker's.

"Welcome to the Beach City Grill," Trucker said, spreading his arms out.

Tish smiled. A pickup truck screeched to the curb and the driver honked impatiently. Rolling her eyes, Tish asked,

"Tomorrow?"

Trucker nodded. "Sure."

They all watched her go. Priestly shook his head as the truck peeled away from the curb.

"If she makes it that long," he muttered, going back to scraping the grill.

* * *

_April 12, 2006_

The phone rang at two minutes to closing. Priestly rolled his eyes and exchanged an 'oh, fuck' look with Jen. Good thing he hadn't turned the grill off. He really hated it when they got these last minute phone orders, but he especially hated it at the beginning of a new quarter when he was still trying to get used to the funky ass schedule he'd been forced into because of his class schedule that quarter. He was in class from 7:30 in the morning until 10, came straight to the grill to open, worked until two-thirty, then left for his afternoon class and returned to the grill to work from six until close. It had been exactly one week and two days, and he felt like he'd die by closing each night. And then he had to go home and study and do homework until midnight most nights only to start again the next day at six a.m.

"Oh, man, Leo, I'm sorry." Trucker said, sighing.

Priestly frowned. On second thought, he'd rather it be a last minute phone order.

"What can I do, man? What do you need?" Trucker was saying as he and Jen exchanged another look.

Wordlessly, Priestly moved past him to lock the front door and turn the sign. He and Jen started the closing chores. He'd been doing it so long now he could close blindfolded. He listened to Trucker's end of the conversation. "I'll try, man. Let me see what I can figure out. Can I call you back tonight, or do you want me to wait until tomorrow? Yeah, man. I figured. Okay. I'll call you back. Alright."

Priestly looked up at Trucker. It wasn't often that he looked the way he did just now…tense. High strung. Worked up. Those things were the antithesis of Trucker's whole mellow vibe. Priestly knew without asking that Leo's dad passed away after six years of precarious health and steady decline. Priestly stopped mopping and just leaned on the handle as Trucker wearily announced,

"Quick meeting." When Trucker realized they were just looking at him expectantly, he said, "Leo's father died. I'm not sure how we can work this, but I need to go to Texas."

"Whatever you need," Priestly said. Jen echoed the sentiment.

Trucker rubbed his head. "Priestly, you've been opening, you know the routine, but you can't handle the early crowd all alone, and Jen's in class. I'm going to make some calls, see if I can find someone to just pitch in for a few days or something until I can get back to town."

"Trucker, if you need me to skip a few days of classes, I can–"

Trucker shut him down. "No way." He shook his head. "No one misses school for this. I'll figure it out."

"What about Davis?" Priestly asked. "He's helped out before." It was true. Over the years, if Trucker got too sick to come to work, Priestly would come in to find Joe and Davis holding down the fort.

"That's going to be my first call," Trucker said. "Just please, nobody get sick or call in. I'll be back as quick as I can."

Priestly and Jen nodded.

What felt like a crisis to Trucker was hardly a blip. Davis was on board a quick phone call later. Trucker had his flight booked and a shuttle arranged. When Priestly locked up behind Jen about twenty minutes later, Trucker was already on his way home to pack.

"See you tomorrow?" Priestly asked hopefully. "You're not gonna, like, come down with a case of typhoid or something?"

Jen smirked at him. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

He laughed. "No way." If he got sick he'd put on a freaking hazmat suit and down a bunch of OTCs before he'd let Trucker down. He owed the guy for the next millennia at least, though Trucker would never do the counting.

* * *

_May 9, 2006_

Priestly looked up as the door swung open and Tish plodded in, late, looking like she just rolled out of bed. He smirked.

"Who was the lucky guy last night?" he asked grimly. It didn't matter that he didn't want to know, didn't want to picture her moaning under some random guy. The reason it didn't matter is because Karla, a cocktail waitress who could put Mae West to shame, had taken to coming in right at opening for her version of "breakfast" every day. Tish, meanwhile, got the third degree from Karla after each new conquest, so he figured he'd just beat Karla to the chase. Tish gave him a dirty look as Karla came out of the bathroom and demanded "scores".

Priestly went back to finishing up Karla's order and tried to ignore the two discussing the guy, Jake, like he was on some sort of professional sex team. He was surprised she gave the guys letter grades, like in school, instead of numbers like in gymnastics or diving. He half expected the two of them to hold up cards or something while a voice over a loudspeaker intoned, "Technical skill, 8.5. Style, 6.3."

He supposed it was a good thing that Tish didn't seem to want to do anything more than exchange flirty barbs with him, because even if he ever got the nerve up to ask her out, he'd probably be too terrified to even kiss her. His sexual history was downright pitiful next to hers, which embarrassed the hell out of him and caused something that felt like a fur ball to block his throat whenever he thought he might open up his mouth and ask her to a concert at Moe's or Catalyst.

He sighed as he slid Karla's basket across the counter for Tish to deliver to Karla's table by the window. As Tish told Karla flatly, "He was so bad I think that giving him an 'F' would be generous. I kept turning the lights back _on._ What guy wants the lights off? I should've known right then."

Priestly frowned. "Oh, come on, Tish, surely there was something redeeming about the experience."

Tish gave him a deadpan stare. "Yeah," she snorted, "it was the fact that it took him all of about three seconds to blow his load, after which he rolled over and immediately fell asleep so I didn't have to keep pretending I was enjoying myself."

Priestly shook his head. "So why keep hitting on the customers, then? You haven't had a good thing to say about anyone for like the last two weeks. That should tell you something."

Tish didn't answer.

Priestly turned to Trucker for support. "Trucker, aren't you worried that all her…" He searched for a word. "…her _scoring_ is going to start affecting business?"

Trucker just gave him an amused look. "Hasn't seemed to so far," he said.

Tish just smirked at him and continued talking to Karla. When the front door opened a few minutes later and a group of surfers came in, she came around the back end of the counter by the soda machine and grabbed the apron she hadn't had time to put on yet. Tying it, she accidentally brushed against his backside as she passed.

"Ooh," he joked, "thought you'd never ask."

She smiled sweetly at him and batted her eyes sarcastically. "I don't have to ask. _They_ ask. But for the record, don't bother asking."

He made a face at her, but she'd already turned to smile and flirt with the surfer boys.


	44. If Everyone Cared

_May 17, 2006_

_ Beep beep!_

_Beep beep!_

Priestly turned to look toward the laptop. He was used to the ordering system's low, single beep. This was a higher pitched double beep. "Hey, Jen, did you change the ordering system?" he called to her in the dining room.

She looked puzzled for a second and then rushed over to the laptop like it would self destruct in six seconds. Suspicious, Priestly edged over toward her. Before he could get a look at the screen, she clicked the mouse and the screen changed. She hadn't been on the grill's web page, after all.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked casually.

She blushed.

"Jennnnn," he drew her name out with a mocking tone.

She lifted one shoulder. "Just chatting with someone."

Priestly drew up to his full height and looked down at her warily. "Who?"

She shrugged again. "Just…a guy."

Tish looked up from the clean bar towels she was folding. "A guy?" she smiled. "What guy?"

If it were possible, Jen turned even more red. "You guys, it's nothing. I—″

Priestly leaned next to her on his elbows. "No, really, Jen," he said in all seriousness, no teasing, "what guy?"

She shot Trucker a 'help me' look, but Trucker just looked at her over his glasses, amused, and then pulled them off and folded his arms across his chest expectantly. Sighing, Jen said, "He's just a guy I started chatting with on a message board a couple months ago."

Priestly took advantage of her second glance at Trucker to take control of the mouse and pull up her chat window. Before she could hide it again, smacking his hand, he caught just the screen names. "Fuzzzy_22? Is that him?"

"Well, he's not Ladybugger," Jen retorted.

"So, who is he, Jen? What's he like?" Tish asked, leaning in, now, too.

"He's…nice," Jen replied.

"What do you talk to him about?" Tish pressed, looking up with a smile as a group of surfers came in.

"Saved by the bell," Trucker teased, turning his focus back to the tickets he was adding up.

They continued to quiz Jen for most of the afternoon until Trucker called a halt to it and changed the subject by announcing a company barbecue at his place which would also be a celebration of Priestly's birthday since he was taking his actual birthday off.

Tish looked at him with interest. "Friday's your birthday?" she asked, apparently having noticed the schedule tacked up in the back room.

He nodded, dropping some chicken on the grill for an order.

"Well, happy birthday," she said, smacking his ass with her order pad on her way to the cold station to start on another group's order. She giggled when he startled and gave her a look.

Somehow, the new topic of conversation became his first name. Maybe that was because eventually, every new employee that came through the grill came to realize that Priestly was an unusual name which was followed by the realization that he didn't like using his first name. That, of course, meant it was something embarrassing, which roused their curiosity.

Priestly smirked good naturedly at Tish as she tossed out the wildest stuff she could come up with.

"Dweezil? Moon Unit?"

"The name's Priestly, Tish," he joked back, "not Zappa."

Their game carried over to Trucker's place, where the question became not "What is Priestly's first name?" but "Why won't he tell us?"

The reasons ranged from Nomatophobia (fear of names) to one suggested by Tish that had Priestly choking on his Trucker Burger.

"You…sell crack for the CIA," she suggested, "and your first name is your code name, so you can't use it in everyday life."

When he was done choking, he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and rasped, "I have to get that one on a t-shirt!"

Tish smiled.

"Witness protection," Jen suggested.

"I already have a shirt about that," Priestly waved it off.

"I meant your name," she said.

"That would be a dumb first name," he retorted, rolling his eyes at her.

She rolled hers back at him. "You know what I meant."

He laughed. "Yeah, I did," he admitted, winking at her so that she couldn't help but grin.

"Seriously, Priestly," Tish said, "what is it?"

Jen shook her head. "He's never going to tell us. We'll have to kill him first." After a brief silence, Jen said, "It's a shame your mother couldn't make it tonight, we could've asked her."

His mother had to be at work early in the morning to set up a meeting with a bunch of VIP types from the east coast, otherwise she would have been there. He just told her he'd see her over the weekend.

"Nope," he said aloud to them, licking a glob of mayo off his thumb, "she's sworn to secrecy."

They finally gave up trying to guess his name and moved on to a game of cards. After he won the first game, he lamented, "I should've called strip poker."

Tish threw her wadded up dinner napkin at him. He batted it back at her. She scrambled for it and accidentally hit her glass of ice water. When she tried to catch it, she made things worse and ended up with water all over herself and leapt up from the table with a gasp at the temperature shock.

"Happy birthday to me!" he laughed as she crossed her arms over her chest to conceal what the water had done to her thin white tank.

Trucker disappeared into the house to get a towel. Grinning at her, Priestly said,

"Aw come on, Tish, it's my birthday!"

"Bite me," she sneered at him. But she laughed when he lunged out of his chair and went after her as if to obey. She put her palm on his face and shoved him back into his chair.

Trucker handed her a faded black t-shirt with the Grateful Dead bears on it. She smirked at them, turned around, and just whipped off her tank with her back to them, followed by her bra. There was no tan line. Priestly thought he'd stop breathing for a second when he noticed that. Once she was in the tee, she turned back around and stuck her tongue out at him.

"There. That's all you get, birthday boy."

Trucker was of modest size for a man, but it was about four sizes too big for her, anyway. Priestly thought she looked even sexier in that shirt than she had in her own. He sighed.

"Party pooper," he said. Tish fought the corners of her mouth.

* * *

_May 29__th__, 2006_

Priestly was just pressing a new wax ring into place in Leo's guest bathroom, the one his mother used, when a voice from behind him made him jump.

"Wow, man, I guess I'm really getting what I'm paying for with you. That's not even on the list."

Priestly turned to see Leo standing behind him. He grinned and stood up, but he wasn't sure whether his heart was racing from the surprise or because he was suddenly wondering what his mother was going to do. He had no idea Leo was coming home yet. Priestly assumed he was still trying to wrap up his father's affairs in Texas. The guy hadn't said a word about California during their phone call on May 1st, the last time Priestly had spoken to him.

"Hey, Leo. When did you get back?" he asked, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Couple hours ago. Stopped over at Trucker's first." Leo shrugged.

"So, is this it? You back for good?"

"Yep," Leo agreed happily. "Dad's place sold, so I cleared it out. What I couldn't sell went to Goodwill. And here I am."

Priestly nodded. "Welcome back." He looked down at the fresh wax ring and then over at the toilet, which he'd carefully set in the tub for safe keeping.

"You need any help with that?"

Priestly looked at the toilet. "Nah, man. Settle back in."

Leo nodded. "Ok. Holler if you need a hand."

Priestly turned back to the job at hand. He wondered if his mother was back from the grocery store yet and what she was going to think about Leo's return. Over the last several months, she'd often talked about finding a place of her own, but she'd told him Leo always encouraged her to stay. Her paying the utility bills that he'd shouldered alone for several years took some of the burden off of him, and he liked having someone in the house because it cut down on the chance of burglary and vandalism. So she'd stayed. But now that Leo was back, he'd surely want his house back, too.

Priestly sighed and gently positioned the toilet over the anchor bolts, pushing down evenly on both sides. It took him just a few more minutes to tighten the anchor bolts, reinstall the supply line and test the seal. When he was satisfied that it was no longer leaking as it had been, he caulked the base of the toilet. After cleaning up the area so that it looked like he'd never been in there working, Priestly called out,

"Hey, Leo? I'm finished in here. I'm going to take off!"

As he turned to leave the bathroom, Leo appeared in the doorway.

"After you wash up, why don't you come out on the back patio and have some lemonade with us?" Leo suggested.

"Us?" Priestly asked.

"Yeah. Me and Joyce."

Before Priestly could comment, Leo disappeared from the doorway.

After scrubbing his hands, Priestly wandered out to the back patio. He stood in the doorway silently, feeling a little bit like he'd stepped into an alternate universe. Leo and his mom were playing a game of dominoes and chatting like old friends. _Did I miss something? _he wondered, shaking his head. As if Leo could hear his thoughts, he looked up and beckoned to the little patio table.

"C'mon, man, sit down. Take a breather. Have some lemonade."

Priestly slowly poured himself a glass, watching them play. His mother and Leo bantered back and forth. He just sipped his lemonade, which was the perfect balance of sweet and tart, and wondered at the sound of his mother teasing Leo. He'd never heard her sound so…playful before. After a few turns passed in their game, Leo looked up at him.

"You ok, Priestly? You're awfully quiet."

He halfway grinned at that. "Trying to say I'm a loud mouth?"

Leo smirked. "Not a loud mouth, no. A little louder than the rest of us, maybe, but you're doing a good Marcel Marceau right now."

Priestly rolled his eyes at the mention of the famous mime. "Just enjoying my lemonade. This your recipe, Mom?"

"Actually, no," his mother said, glancing up at him and then back down at her row of dominoes. "Leo made this batch."

Leo hooted. "Don't look so surprised, man. I been making lemonade since before you were born. I even had a stand when I was a kid. I made twenty-six dollars one summer. That was a lot of scratch back then."

"What'd you do with the money?" his mother asked.

"Bought my first bike-a used Schwinn-and a pack of cards for the spokes."

"You must've been Joe Cool on the block," his mother replied with an easy smile.

"Oh, you better believe it. Leo French was on the A-list that summer." The laugh rumbled from him as he played a domino on the table.

Priestly's face burned. They were subtle about it, but he knew flirting when he heard it. His mom was stroking Leo's ego, and Leo was puffed up like a prized rooster. He stood up, not sure what to make of the whole thing. "Well, thanks for the lemonade. I've got to go. I'm meeting some friends at the beach," he lied smoothly, raising his empty glass. "Mom," he said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. "I'll talk to you later. Leo," he nodded at the man. He could swear Leo's eyes twinkled with amusement at his expense. When he heard Leo's soft words to his mother after he ducked into the house, he was sure of it.

"I don't think he knows what to make of us," Leo chuckled. "He was all kinds of red."

"Really?" his mother snickered. She _snickered. _His mother didn't snicker, didn't giggle.

Priestly shook his head as he wandered up the stairs to his apartment to grab a beach towel. He figured the beach sounded like a good idea even if he had no friends at the ready to meet him there. He'd call Mike, see if he was up for a little sparring. He suddenly had energy to burn.

* * *

_August 29, 2005_

Priestly woke up too early. Hurricane Katrina had been on his mind all day the previous day because today was the 1 year anniversary of the day his Aunt Glenda and Uncle Bud and their kids and his mother, along with countless others, lost nearly everything. He thought about the day ahead.

Sadly, lack of funds and slow progress and people fighting through red tape with insurance companies kept progress and recovery moving at less than a turtle's pace. Glenda and Bud were lucky. They'd just gotten their FEMA trailer the previous week. It would be another four weeks before the utilities were hooked up to it, and then they could leave Jack's place in Tennessee and return home to Mississippi, such that it was. Priestly wasn't sure you could call four people living in a one bedroom travel trailer lucky, but it was getting them back to Mississippi, and that's where Glenda and Bud wanted to be.

He joined his mom and Leo for breakfast at the IHOP. He still couldn't get used to their relationship. As far as he could tell, they still maintained separate rooms in Leo's house, but it was pretty obvious they were romantically involved. He'd seen them kissing on the back patio one day when he'd gone to get the mower. Leo told him he felt a little bad about Priestly still taking care of the lawn as if he wasn't back in town. Priestly replied,

"That's our arrangement, right? Discounted rent for manual labor?" Leo agreed with a "yeah, but", and Priestly shrugged his shoulders. "I still want my discount if you still want to give it to me. I like living here, and you've got a tenant as long as you want one. I mean, at least for the next few years while I finish school, anyway."

So Priestly kept up the yard and continued with the other tasks at Leo's house as if he weren't, in fact, home. The only real change was that he scheduled the indoor stuff so as not to walk in on anything mortifying. Catching them kissing had been disconcerting enough. It wasn't that he didn't expect his mother to date. It was the person his mother had become. He barely recognized her anymore. She wore jeans, for Crissakes! She got her hair cut in a new style. And she laughed. It wasn't that he'd never heard her laugh before, but she laughed more often and more loudly. And her sense of humor wasn't genteel or polite or staid or any of the things he remembered it being. He'd catch her snickering at stuff that, in his father's house, she'd never have laughed at.

He caught bits and pieces of conversations she had with Leo, and it was like she was a whole different person than the person he knew. She could talk politics and discuss world events and she had memories and stories he'd never heard about or knew about. Like the funny story she told about her and her girlfriends going to the drive in movies. They wanted to avoid paying full price, so they not only put two of the girls in the large trunk, the two of them that were left in the car also claimed to be under 14 years of age, which was the legal driving age in Mississippi when she was a kid. The ticket taker pointed out that one of them had to be at least 14, otherwise they were driving illegally. She'd blushed telling that story, but she'd told it.

"Priestly?"

Priestly looked over at Leo and then at the waitress. Sheepishly, he asked, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Did you want a refill?"

"Yeah," he said, offering his coffee mug. He let the waitress fill it three quarters and said, "That's good, thanks." As he added cream and sugar, his mother asked,

"Honey, are you feeling alright?"

"Sure," he said, testing the coffee. It was good, creamy and sweet and far from the bitter nastiness of black coffee. He gulped half of it down. "I didn't sleep that great last night, that's all."

"You don't have to come, if you're too tired," his mother told him, patting his shoulder. "We can take you back home on our way, if you want."

"No, I'm good," he told her.

In observance of the one year anniversary of Katrina, his mother had signed up for a Habitat for Humanity build in nearby Scotts Valley. Priestly was embarrassed to admit he hadn't done anything like that since moving to Santa Cruz, and he readily agreed to join in. Leo signed up, and then Rawley and Chuck jumped on the bandwagon, too. Davis wanted to, also, but instead he agreed to cover Priestly's shift at the grill because Trucker still hadn't managed to hire a fourth employee and the heaviest tourist traffic wouldn't be behind them until after Labor Day.

The next four hours were spent framing the first house in a new subdivision of Habitat homes. After the usual initial stares and comments on his appearance, everybody got down to business. It was as hot as Santa Cruz ever got in August, which was about 75 degrees. Even so, he was damp with sweat by the time they broke for lunch.

He sat with his mother, Leo, Chuck and Rawley, eating Subway sandwiches and talking about different builds they'd been on before spending the last four hours finishing the wall framing so the next day's crew could start framing the roof. As they left the job site, Priestly saw his mother stop to talk to the single mom who would one day own the home they were building. When his mother suddenly began to cry, Priestly instantly started toward them, but Leo caught him by the shoulder.

"Why don't you get the car started?" he asked, handing him the keys to his mother's car. Everyone had been afraid his Nova wouldn't make it, even though the car had given him only a few minor troubles since he bought it from Rawley.

Priestly took the keys. He should have known it would make her emotional, but she'd been so cheerful all day he thought maybe she was at peace with everything now. He glanced back and saw Leo holding his mother, rubbing her back, his head ducked down as close to her ear as he could get it considering he was quite a bit taller than she was.

He waited to feel the same weirdness he'd been feeling, seeing his mother and Leo growing steadily closer. The weirdness didn't come. Instead, watching her pull back and look up at Leo with a tearful smile, wiping her eyes, he just felt warmth.


	45. Fear Factory

_**A/N: We're finally hitting script! The first part of the chapter (which is a prose "plus" version of the first scene w/ Priestly in it) is mostly to demonstrate that we've hit "movie". After that, there may be casual reference to other movie events mixed into original events. I don't own the portions which are script and I am, in fact, cringing at using/repeating part of the script. No infringement desired or intended! **_

* * *

_September 27, 2006_

Priestly was grouchy. He was late, first of all, which was happening fairly often in this new semester. He blamed it entirely on the fact that the only parking he could ever find was at one end of the campus and his classes were on the other. On top of that, he'd gotten a 'C' on his Trig test. Math was never his strong point, but the worst he'd ever gotten in high school was a 'B'. These days he was having to really, really work to maintain his 3.86 GPA.

As he pulled into the dead end area behind the grill, however, his mood lifted a little. Since Joe's departure and Tish's arrival, he completely enjoyed work, even if it was…work.

Yanking open the front door, he called out,

"Everybody relax!"

Peeling off his sunglasses, he spontaneously broke into a flailing sort of dance. As suddenly as he started, he stopped. "I'm here," he announced with a satisfied smirk, adjusting the strap on his messenger bag so it didn't slide off his shoulder.

Tish looked over at him and mocked, "Oh, and it's so close to almost on time."

He moved to stand in front of her. "Well, c'mon…once I start showing up on time, you'll expect it every day." He gave her a cheesy, forced grin.

Tish sneered back at him, shrugging. Priestly glanced over at the guy she'd been waiting on on the other side of the register counter. Tipping his chin at the guy, he said,

"'S'up?"

The guy nodded, giving him one of those all too familiar "I'm laughing at you on the inside" once overs. Priestly turned away with an exasperated look and made his way behind the counter as Tish said softly,

"Don't pay attention to him…"

"Okay," he said loudly enough so he knew she could hear him. "Today's topic of conversation," he continued, pointing toward the register counter, "clueless men and the women who use them for gratification."

He kept going toward the back room so he could stow his bag and grab an apron. Suddenly, he stopped short, noticing a girl with strawberry blonde hair half covered by a pink bandana. She was standing behind the counter next to Jen. Puzzled, he tilted his head at her.

"Who're you?"

She looked up at him. "Piper," she answered.

He threw up his hands. "Piper," he repeated, looking her up and down. "What're you doing here, Piper?"

Slowly, as if uncertain of the correct answer, she said, "I…work here."

Glancing at Jen, he asked, "Why wasn't I notified?" And then louder, indignantly, he said, "I wasn't notified!"

"Hey, Priestly," Trucker said, stepping out of the back, "we hired someone."

"Thank you," he said, shaking his head. "Hell, we need, like, a bulletin board or staff email or somethin'," he griped.

"You know, Priestly," Jen added with a sympathetic face, "Piper thinks Elvis is dead."

Turning to Trucker, he whined, "Really? Now you're hiring people who fail the interview?" Trucker smirked as he shook out his apron with a deep sigh. "C'mon, man!"

"…I don't know," Tish was saying when he turned his attention her way. "You're cute and everything, but…"

"But what?" the guy at the register said. "C'mon, Tish," he pleaded.

Tish lowered her voice, but Priestly heard her, anyway. Hell, he could recite this next part verbatim if asked to do so. "It's just…"

He turned back toward Jen, tying his apron, and muttered, "Here it comes…"

Tish shot him a dirty look before turning back to register boy. She lowered her voice even more. "I don't really like sex…"

"What?!" register boy asked disbelievingly.

Priestly rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"How can you not like–?"

"I've never had a…you know," Tish said coyly. She deserved a fucking Oscar. Even he almost bought her bashful, shy-girl routine and he'd heard it at least a dozen times.

Priestly rolled his head toward them and gave register boy a look that said, "Jesus, dude, really? You're buying this?!" It went unnoticed.

"Whoa!" Register boy exclaimed, his eyebrows lifting. "Never?"

Priestly was torn between feeling sorry for the idiot and annoyed by him. He didn't have to look to know Tish was shaking her head pitifully, because the guy answered,

"Huh. Well, obviously you've never been with the right guy." And then the guy pointed at himself with both thumbs and mouthed, "Me."

Priestly shook his head. Never mind. Any sympathy he felt just got coated in a layer of hot, gooey cheese. Behind him, Piper asked incredulously,

"My God, does that really work?"

Jen's voice reflected his own jaded incredulity. "Every time," she replied under her breath.

"Are you kidding me?" Priestly asked, turning toward them. "It's man's greatest challenge."

"Tish is the scorpion queen," Jen informed Piper.

"See you tonight!" Tish called as register boy ducked out of the diner.

Tish turned to face them with a satisfied sigh. Priestly balled up a sub wrapper.

"Well," he said, "another comrade used and discarded, huh, Tish?" He tossed the wrapper in her direction. "You know, I've gotta be honest with you, Tish," he said as she watched the wrapper fall short, "I've never really been comfortable watching you do that to men. There should be some kind of, like, warning sign posted."

"If men are that easy to manipulate, they deserve to be taken advantage of," she shrugged and turned her back on him.

"I'm easy to manipulate," he replied, his arms outstretched. "Why don't women take advantage of me?"

Tish turned back to him with a weary look. "I think we can all guess the answer to that," she said, turning around again after giving a pointed look to his Mohawk.

He glanced up at it forlornly as Jen and Piper giggled. He turned back to the grill. Really? What did his hair have to do with anything? Was that why she mostly treated him like an annoying little brother? Over hair? Priestly shook his head. Figured. She seemed to be mostly attracted to dark haired guys. Most of the ones she flirted with had that boy next door look…the same one he'd shed off like dead skin three years ago.

He thought about Tish's comment for most of the afternoon as he watched her flirt with various guys. Sure enough, they were all clean cut All American types. All of them except one had dark hair, and they all dressed like Surfer Ken. He sighed and finished up the latest round of Maui Jim specials for an internet order and wondered if Tish would be interested in him if he still looked like Boaz.

He sighed as the answer persisted. Probably.

* * *

_October 19, 2006_

Priestly rolled his eyes as Tish made a date with another hapless victim.

"See you tonight?" she asked. "Around nine-thirty?"

Hapless Victim grinned and nodded. She slid his sandwich to him across the counter suggestively. He winked at her and left, lifting a hand as a goodbye without looking back. She smirked as she caught Priestly's dark look. Smiling at him in an exaggeratedly sweet way, she headed out to the dining room to start cleaning the tables.

Priestly turned his attention to Piper. The mural she was preparing to paint on the back wall was roughed out in pencil. From where he was standing, he couldn't make it all out, but she was starting to darken in the scene now. The next step, she said, would be base paint.

"Hey, Piper..." he said. When she glanced at him he asked, "What's up with the Millers?" Piper had come clean about her second reason for being in Santa Cruz. She was going to the Art Institute, but she'd chosen to go there because she thought the baby she'd given up for adoption was living in town. She'd begun watching them, riding her bike past their house and trying to gather enough courage to introduce herself somehow.

She frowned. "No." She looked at each of them in turn, searching for words. "I'm still just stalking them."

None of them knew how to respond to that. Piper saved them the trouble and turned back to the mural.

Priestly checked his watch. Almost closing. Just another half hour. Good. He had to study if he wanted to pass his Trig test tomorrow. The laptop beeped once, signaling an order. He glanced back at Jen, waiting, spatula in hand.

"A 6-inch Max Meat, cold, and an 8-inch Sally, grilled. Nothing to hold or substitute." she said.

Nodding, he turned around and dropped the turkey on the grill and started working on the cold sub. He heard the door open behind them.

"Hello, everyone," Zo greeted. "Trucker, could I borrow your phone book? Mine seems to have walked away."

"What's up?" Trucker said, plopping it on the register counter. He was counting the cash drawer back to the $300.00 in bills and coins they used to open up the shop with. Priestly watched him place the rest into a bank bag with the daily sales printout tape from the register.

"Well, I've got a blocked toilet. I need a plumber."

"I've got a snake," Trucker said, "Let me take a look before you call someone."

Zo rewarded him with her gentle smile and a, "Thank you, Trucker."

He grabbed the bank bag and disappeared into the back room to put it in the safe. When he returned, the bank bag was gone and in its place was a plumber's snake. In the other hand, he held his tool box. Priestly grinned after him as Trucker told them he'd be back in a few minutes and headed across the street with Zo.

Tish swept past Priestly and started cleaning the front counter, apparently eager to take care of her share of the closing tasks so she could get out of there and hook up with Mr. Hapless Victim. Priestly almost laughed as he finished up the internet order and plopped the wrapped sandwiches on her freshly wiped counter. It didn't do the counter any harm, of course, but it rankled her. Snapping her bar towel at him, she said,

"Don't be a jerk. Just because you have no love life, doesn't mean you should get in the way of mine."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd hardly call that a love life," he snorted. "I'd call that…heat," he finished. Something flashed in her eyes. He swallowed. Maybe he'd gone too far. If he wasn't mistaken or crazy, he might think he'd hurt her feelings. Before he could say anything to her, though, the door swung open and the owner of the two freshly wrapped subs came in.

Priestly went over to the register and punched in the totals as the guy handed Jen his money. In turn, she handed it to Priestly. He was already counting out the change. "Dollar eight-six, man," he said, passing it to the guy, who balanced the subs in one hand, nodded, and shoved the change in the pocket of his jeans.

"You guys have a good night," the guy said, out the door as quickly as he'd come in, leaving the grill empty again except for its employees.

Or not, Priestly thought as he saw someone push the door open out of the corner of his eye.

"Everything in the register!"

Priestly looked up at the figure he'd only glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Tall but hollowed out, the guy's eyes were wild, his hair unkempt. He had the look of a meth addict…the pits and ruts in his face that indicated he was picking at crank bugs, the twitches, the sweating. And, of course, he held a gun in his shaking right hand.

"You hear me, motherfucker?!" the guy shouted. "Open the fucking register!"

Priestly held his hands up and glanced around. Jen was frozen at the laptop, watching him. Piper, still at the mural, watched with wide eyes, too. He didn't dare turn around to look at Tish. He stabbed buttons on the register, entering a fake sale which was the only way the drawer would open. He fumbled, hit the wrong button. The guy made a frustrated noise that made Priestly jump.

"Take it easy, man," he said as soothingly as he knew how, "I'm getting it."

"Get it faster or I'm gonna blow a fucking hole in your fucked up head!"

Priestly started over, but the guy had apparently had enough of waiting on him to get it right.

"You!" he cried, pointing the gun at Tish. Priestly risked a glance at her and watched her jump. "You fucking do it since freak boy can't!"

Tish slowly crept over to the register. Priestly stepped toward the front counter to make room for her, putting himself between Tish and the gun. He felt her tremble a little as she carefully poked the correct buttons and the drawer popped open with a click. Priestly glanced up and noticed Trucker on his way back across the street.

_Look up, _he silently begged. _Trucker, look up. _As if by a miracle or telepathy, Trucker's eyes lifted and the surfer's gaze locked on Priestly's. Priestly gave his head a little shake and mouthed the word, "No."

Trucker glanced over. Priestly saw the recognition wash over him. The guy was too jumpy, though, too wired. He noticed something was off, and then he glanced out and noticed Trucker frozen in the middle of the street, snake in one hand, tool box in the other. Priestly lunged downward with Tish as the first bullet thumped into the register counter. He flinched as the second shattered the old parrot statue that rested near the phone and sent porcelain shards raining down on him and Tish. He curled himself over her and felt the little bits of shrapnel pelt his back and bounce into and off of his spiky hair.

The guy was in the drawer now, grabbing cash. "Where's the rest?!" he shouted. "This can't be it! Where's the fucking rest?!"

Priestly looked up at him. His mouth dry as the Sahara, he choked out the word, "Safe…"

"Open it!" the guy demanded, waving the gun before using it to point at him.

His voice shook as he joked feebly, "L-Look at me, man. If you were my boss, would you give me the code to your safe?"

It was the one time he was grateful that people considered him a freak. The guy apparently agreed with them, because he actually appeared to decide Priestly had a point. But his impatience and his strung out greed swung him right back to pissed off and he shot at them again. The guy either had zero aim or was intentionally missing just to rattle them, because this time the giant pickle jar exploded just over Priestly's head, showering glass and pickles and juice down on him and Tish.

"Fuck!" the guy swore before spontaneously bolting from the shop, heading down 6th toward Mesa.

Seconds later, Trucker burst in, calling, "Everybody ok?"

Priestly glanced across at Jen. White faced and shaking, she nodded, rising hesitantly and peeking out the front door. Trucker moved back to it and turned the lock, flipping the sign over before turning back toward them. Piper dashed across the room, wide-eyed. She and Jen reached for each other, seeking comfort. Priestly looked at Tish and realized he still had his hand on her back. She was shaking, her face slack from shock. He reached down and rubbed his thumb over a shallow scrape on her arm before pulling her to her feet.

"Parrot, or pickle jar?" he asked, trying to ease the tension. She just blinked up at him. "You're bleeding, Tish," he explained, grabbing a paper napkin from the shelf above the cold station. He covered the scrape with the napkin, closing his hand over it. She tugged her arm free and put her own hand over it.

"You're bleeding, too," Jen told him, making a swiping motion over her cheek.

He slid his fingers across his face. They came away streaked with red. He hadn't felt a thing, but now he recognized the sting. Grabbing his own napkin, he angled his head to catch a glimpse in the chromed edge of the shelf. It wasn't bad, just a vertical slash of red about an inch and a half long right over his cheekbone. Like Tish's arm, it was just a scratch.

Seeing that they were all breathing and still reasonably intact, Trucker grabbed the phone and called for the police. Priestly eased past the girls and went into the back for some clean towels and the mop. He didn't know what else to do besides clean up, but when he came out to start on it, Trucker shook his head.

"The police should probably see it first," he said, ushering them out into the dining room. "Everybody sit down."

The girls sat on one of the booth benches at the front. Priestly turned a chair backwards and sat facing the window, watching for anyone suspicious. He still felt uneasy, like someone was going to jump out at any second. Trucker took the chair beside his. But when he saw Jen and Piper still huddled together, both wiping silent tears from their cheeks, he said,

"Scoot over, Angels."

They separated, and Trucker sat in the space between them, draping an arm over each of them, cuddling them against him. _Papa Trucker_, Priestly thought dully. He glanced at Tish. She was hugging herself until Piper reached across and gestured at her. She scooted closer to Piper, who slung her arm around Tish's shoulder. Priestly randomly thought he was the only one not getting any love.

They sat there silently, thinking their own thoughts for a few long minutes, and then a shadow at the door had him going rigid.

"It's just the fuzz," Trucker said quietly, lifting his arms off the girls.

Priestly crossed the room in two strides and unlocked the door for the two uniformed officers. Both ignored him and looked to Trucker for an explanation, instead. Jen offered what she'd seen. Only then did the officers take an interest in Priestly.

"Happened just like she said. Guy came in, demanded everything in the register. When I didn't get it open fast enough, he told Tish to do it. I saw Trucker coming across the street and figured if he came in just then the guy would put a bullet in him, so I tried to signal him not to come in. Trucker caught on, but so did the robber. He hit the register desk, then he killed the parrot statue, and then he asked me to open the safe. I told him I didn't know the combination, and he shot the pickle jar and ran out." Priestly shrugged.

"What did he look like?" the cop asked.

"Tall, skinny, scabby face, dark clothes, dark hair, light colored eyes. I'm not sure if they were blue or grey," Priestly answered. "Twitchy," he added. "I think he had crank bugs."

"You think he was on meth?" the cop clarified.

"He had all the signs," Priestly agreed.

The two cops looked at each other. Something passed between them. One of them ducked outside and returned with a camera and began taking photos of the register area and the edge of the cold station and the little desk under the phone. The other one asked Tish if she was ok, if she needed medical attention.

"No, I'm fine," Tish smiled. The cop smiled back. It was all Priestly could do not to groan.

_Really? _He thought. _You're going to flirt now?_

"What about you?" the cop asked as if noticing the cut on his cheek for the first time.

He shook his head wordlessly.

Once the cops left, he started picking up the broken glass and slimy pickles with a broom and dustpan. The smell of vinegar was starting to make him feel nauseous. He couldn't wait to go home and shower it off. He might have to burn his clothes.

It was after eleven when they filtered out the back door together. Priestly, Tish, and Trucker walked Jen to her car after Trucker tucked Piper's bike into his van and Piper herself into the passenger seat. Priestly looked at Tish. "Need a ride?"

She looked toward the street, toward the front of the shop. He realized then what she was looking for. Hapless Victim missed their date. Probably saw the cop cars and split. She looked back at him and nodded. He was just pulling out onto Nelson when she said,

"Wait, that's him!"

Swallowing a sigh, Priestly smirked at her. "You really want to mess around after the night we've had?"

She tossed him a narrow look over her shoulder and said, "I _especially_ want to mess around after the night we've had."

He watched her until she ducked into Hapless Victim's car and pulled the door closed as the guy moved around to the driver's side. Sighing, he swung out onto Nelson, putting distance between them as fast as he could. He should have known better than to think she'd give up one night of prowling to talk to the likes of him. Just like the cop, she looked past him as if he didn't count, choosing instead to get into a car with a guy who couldn't even open the door for her.


	46. You and Me

_**A/N: Ok. Quite a bit more prose + script. Realized to get where I intend to go, it is a necessary evil. Bear w/ me! Don't own script! No copyright infringement intended/desired!**_

* * *

_November 8, 2006_

Priestly ducked into the grill with Trucker in tow, both of them still shaking their heads over what had just happened. When he'd pulled his Nova in beside the Causemobile, Trucker was in the back fiddling with the engine.

"Hey, what's wrong with the Causemobile?" he'd asked. Priestly got behind the wheel to turn the ignition at Trucker's request.

"Okay, try it!" Trucker called.

"I've got nothing," Priestly said unnecessarily as the engine sputtered and failed. Trucker fiddled some more.

"Okay, once more," Trucker ordered.

He turned the key again. Still no go.

"Cut it off, man," Trucker said, adjusting again.

Priestly glanced across the street and saw Zo heading up Nelson on her way to her shop. Distantly, he heard Trucker say, "Alright, go again." He turned the key, still watching Zo. Drenched in sunlight and mystery, she seemed to feel him watching her. She looked his way, her gentle smile blooming as she blinked lazily at him. At the exact same moment, the stubborn engine which had shown no sign that it would cooperate suddenly caught and roared to life. Priestly glanced in the side mirror, saw Trucker straighten with a baffled look, then saw him notice Zo.

Priestly watched Zo disappear out of sight past the corner of the building. Trucker voice beside him sounded a little dazed.

"That was weird, right?" Trucker asked.

"That was weird," he'd agreed.

He was glad to enter the grill and step out of the Twilight Zone into the ordinary rhythm of the grill: teasing Jen about Fuzzzy_22, for instance. The speculation over Fuzzzy's handle entered hilarious territory as Piper suggested that rather than being a cop, he was a peach farmer in Georgia, to which Lucille replied,

"Oh, Jen, you don't want to move to Georgia!"

As always, Jen was amused by their ponderings but also a little embarrassed. Priestly suggested that perhaps the last 22 years had been a little fuzzy for him.

Jen's grin widened. "I like that one," she said, laughing a little.

The door opened, and two guys strutted in. Cocky and confident, Priestly thought, glancing at them. Especially the dark haired one in front. He really thought he was the shit. Tish apparently thought he was, too, because she bumped Piper out of the way in order to wait on him.

"What can I do for you two?" Tish asked sweetly, cocking her head in that 'ooh, I'm so sexy, aren't I?' way of hers. He got annoyed with himself for agreeing that, yes, she was. Life would be a hell of a lot simpler if he didn't agree with seemingly every other male on the planet that she was good looking. Especially since she clearly had no interest whatsoever in him.

"We phoned it in," the dark haired one replied. "Two Spicy Italian subs." The day's special, Priestly recalled just then. Two subs at the rate of $1 per inch, which meant 2 6-inch for $6, 2 8-inch for $8, and so on.

"How big?" Tish asked, starting the innuendo volley. Priestly couldn't see her expression, but he saw the guy assess Tish. Apparently liking what he saw, he decided to play her game. Of course. Who wouldn't? He sighed inwardly.

"Ten inches," the guy answered in a way that Priestly supposed a woman might find sexy.

Tish's voice took on a teasing but also sultry tone. "Total?"

I'm-the-shit guy's mouth twitched. "Each, of course," he answered. The blonde guy behind him smirked. Silent Bob, Priestly dubbed him. Tish sighed, oblivious to the fact that Piper was holding the subs out, waiting for her to take them. I'm-the-shit glanced at Piper, so Tish did, too. Grabbing the sandwiches, she held them out and offered,

"I'm Tish."

I'm-the-shit tossed a twenty on the counter and took the sandwiches. Without waiting for change, he backed toward the door. He didn't offer his name, but he gave her a wink so that she sighed heavily again.

"Oh, my God," she said, watching him go. Silent Bob gave her a look and followed his friend.

Priestly rolled his eyes. More like _a _shit. He just snorted as Tish sighed,

"Did that work for anybody else?"

Priestly watched her ring in the sale and tuck the large tip in their communal tip jar. "That tip worked for me," he agreed. "If you show him more of your boobs next time we might get the whole twenty."

She elbowed him.

He glanced over Piper's shoulder. Since they were slow for the time being, she was working on her latest assignment for the Art Institute. Her semester project was a series on children, and as she had been doing, she was sketching a picture of the little girl she'd said she thought might be her daughter, Julia. Only this time there was a man in the picture, and the little girl and the man were flying a kite on the beach.

"Julia again?" he asked.

She looked up at him guiltily. Jen glanced over at them as she said, "I met them. Yesterday after my shift ended, I was riding my bike to the beach to work on my art project, you know, because there are usually lots of kids playing there. I saw them turn out of their house on their bikes."

Tish, who'd just finished bussing a couple tables in the dining area, put the dishpan down on the counter and looked at her drawing as Piper continued.

"Julia was sitting in the sand drawing the cliffs, so I started to draw her drawing the cliffs," she explained. "The wind grabbed her picture and she came running right toward me after it. I caught it for her." Piper looked pained. "And then her father came up behind her and saw my drawing of her and…" she sighed.

"And?" Priestly asked.

She covered her face. "I offered him the picture I drew and he accepted it. I asked her name like I didn't already know it, and he introduced himself as if I didn't already know his name, too, and now I really, really feel like this total crazy stalker."

"Well," Jen said, "now you know them, right? That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it gets worse." She looked at them with her big baby blues full of angst. "I told him my name was Anna."

Priestly winced. She nodded at him.

"Right?" she winced back. "I opened my mouth to say Piper, and I panicked. I thought he might remember the name, you know, from the adoption papers? And I panicked." When none of them knew what to say and didn't answer, she added, "Anna's my middle name. So–"

Jen sat up straighter on her stool as Tish said, "If you keep running into each other you could just tell him you were trying for a fresh start. Fresh start, fresh name…"

"That could work," Jen agreed. "But he might get a little freaked and wonder why you needed a fresh start."

Priestly was grateful when the laptop signaled an order for both hot and cold subs and two patrons came up to the front counter to order. He was glad for the excuse to turn to the grill as Jen cheerfully greeted the folks at the counter and Piper worked on filling the drink orders. He didn't know what the best thing to do would be. He totally understood Piper wanting to find her kid and all, but the games she was playing, whether she meant to or not…they were bad news. If he were a dad and someone wiggled their way into his life only to come out later with the fact that she was his kid's biological mother... Priestly shook his head again. Bad news.

* * *

_November 15, 2006_

"Oh, crap!" Jen moaned, rising from her place at the laptop to run after a customer who'd just left. She called after the guy, but he'd been talking to someone on the phone through a headset and Priestly figured by her defeated expression she'd been unsuccessful. "I think he ordered a 12-inch," she winced. He'd fixed and wrapped a 6 inch, because that's what she'd told him the order was.

In the next instant, her screen double beeped, signaling not an order but a reply from Fuzzzy, who'd been messaging her off and on all morning. Priestly turned to finish the table orders he was working on and didn't think much else of it until he heard an irritated voice.

"Hellooo? Excuse me, helloooo?"

"Oh! I'm sorry," Jen began. "I–″

Priestly glanced back and saw the guy Jen had tried chasing earlier back at the counter.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he mocked, waving his hands around. "I ordered a, uh, 12 inch veggie sub. This look like 12 inches to you?" Priestly stood up a little straighter, glaring at him.

"No," she agreed apologetically. "I–"

The guy shook his head and opened his mouth to continue mocking her. Priestly nearly stepped over to get in the guy's face, but instead Tish slid over next to Jen and turned on the charm.

"You know how girls are no good with measurements," she said coyly. "My last boyfriend told me that this _was_ twelve inches," she added, holding another six inch veggie up as she thrust out her chest. As it happened, she was showing more cleavage that day than was even normal for her, and mocking guy ate it right up. "So, go figure."

Mocking guy got so flustered by Tish's display that he fumbled all over himself with the cord to his headset, dropping the bag that held his other six inches as he tried to make it out the door with any sort of dignity left.

"Alright, Jen, what's up?" Tish asked, turning to look at her. "You never screw up an order."

"Yeah, what happened?" Priestly asked, realizing it was true. The last time a customer came in yelling, he was the one to goof. "Fuzzzy's mother finally take his computer away?" he guessed, suspecting it had something to do with her online friend.

"No, actually," Jen said, glancing back at the screen nervously. "He wants to meet." Her eyes were filled with nothing short of terror.

Priestly was just about to suggest maybe they should when Tish shook her head.

"Don't do it, Jen, you don't know anything about him."

Priestly frowned. "Wait a minute," he said, moving up behind her. "Why does this freak you out so bad? You go home with anybody who gives you lip service."

Turning to him with a narrow look, Tish retorted, "I _talk_ to them first, jerk. Besides, I can take care of myself. This is Jen we're talking about."

Jen opened her mouth to object, a hurt expression crossing her face. Truth be told, Tish had a point. Jen was…sweet. Shy. Trusting. She always saw the best in people, tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Like when the homeless guys came in. She was friendly with them. More than that, where anyone else would be just a little wary, she was wide open and completely at ease. That sort of trust could, in fact, be dangerous.

"Okay," Piper interjected before Jen could reply. "Reality check here, guys. This guy could live in Madegascar."

"Yeah," Priestly agreed. "Or Schenectady."

"He lives down near L.A.," Jen replied softly. "He told me."

Tish leaned closer to her. "Did you tell him you were in Santa Cruz?" she asked, concern lacing her voice. Priestly was surprised. He'd sort of assumed Tish was too self absorbed to care much about what anyone else was doing. When Jen glanced back at the computer screen, Tish's exasperation exploded out with her words. "Jesus, Jen! Tell me you didn't tell him your real name."

"No," Jen assured her. "He only knows me as Ladybugger."

Piper stepped forward and gave Jen a sympathetic look. She knew all about secrets, after all. "So what now, Ladybugger?" she asked.

Jen looked conflicted. She glanced back at the laptop screen, and when she turned to look at Tish, Piper, and Priestly, he saw the conflict all over her face. He peered closer at the screen and saw a new order for 2 Spicy Italian subs, cold. He turned to start them, but he thought about the look on Jen's face. She wanted to take a chance. He'd seen that look on her face many times on their bar nights. Wanting to gather the courage to talk to guys, wanting to dance…but being afraid to take that first step.

"I'm going to think about it," she admitted.

Tish was about to say something to her when the door opened. Priestly saw who it was at the same time Tish saw.

"Ohh, Christ," he muttered darkly, turning back to the cold station to finish the sandwiches as I'm-the-shit and Silent Bob approached, the latter with some sort of lollypop in his mouth.

"Tish, right?" I'm-the-shit said more than asked.

With a smile in her voice, Tish replied, "Mystery man, right?"

"Tadd," I'm-the-shit replied.

"Another Spicy Italian sub, Tadd? Just one?" she asked as Priestly was already wrapping them.

"One for Brad, too."

Okay, so it was Silent Brad and I'm-the-shit Tadd, then. Turning, Priestly plopped the subs on the counter and slid them across with both hands, smirking at Tadd, who sneered back at him. Lifting his eyebrows derisively, he said,

"Nice hair."

Priestly sneered back. "Thanks, Taddalie," he said, batting his eyelashes at him before turning back to the grill dismissively.

"Hmmm," Tish sighed in irritation.

"I'll see you around, Tish," Tadd said.

"Okay," she answered softly.

Priestly turned back to watch him leave. Tadd gave him a dirty look, and Silent Brad echoed it, smirking around his lollypop as he followed Tadd out the door.

Leaning on his elbows next to Tish, he said, "Tadd and Brad. Well, isn't that…gay."

Tish turned to look at him. He looked back with a satisfied grin as he realized she was searching for a comeback. "You're gay," she retorted lamely.

"Hardly," he snorted. "You can take me in the back room and show me how you earned your crown any time, Tish." After he said it, he whipped around and started scraping the grill to hide the fact that his face just went beet red. He couldn't believe he'd just said that. Tish laughed behind him, clearly recalling the challenge she'd issued Trucker the other day when he'd made the claim that beautiful women were lazy in bed….a claim she'd taken great offense to.

"You wish," she said, snapping his ass with a bar towel.

He didn't answer. He was still too red in the face. When she disappeared into the dining room, he leaned backwards on his elbows next to Jen. "For what it's worth," he said, "I think you should give it a shot. I mean, you've been talking to each other this long, right? Most guys wouldn't have that kind of patience unless they really were interested. I wouldn't," he shrugged, thinking of Jude and his own impatience and his reaction to that impatience. He wondered again if he should read the emails. He'd just gotten another one the other day, in fact. He'd tucked it in the folder in his email account with the others.

"I don't know," she replied hesitantly.

"Jen, you deserve to be happy," he said seriously, lightly punching her shoulder so that one corner of her mouth lifted. "You're never going to know unless you stretch that neck out."

"I might get my head chopped off if I do that," she answered.

"Maybe. Or maybe when you stretch that neck out, you might stretch far enough so you end up getting kissed by someone on the other end."

She smiled at the thought. He saw Tish coming out of the corner of his eye and stood up. "Think about it," he said, squeezing her shoulder.

At just a few minutes to closing, Priestly looked up from the table he was cleaning to see Tadd swagger in. Twice in one day. Fuck. He knew what it meant.

Tish was at the register counter to meet him almost before he got there. He didn't hear their conversation, but he heard Jen release a sigh.

"Sorry," she said. "Just living vicariously," she explained. "Ignore me."

The next part he caught. Tish started in on her whole, "I've never had an orgasm" spiel, but Tadd cut her off with a derisive look.

"Does that work on stupid guys?"

Taken aback, Tish admitted, "Yeah, usually."

"You ready to go, then?" Tadd asked, closing the discussion.

Priestly, Trucker and Jen watched Tadd head out of the shop, leaving the door to slam in Tish's face. She stopped short for a second, then just pushed the door open as if it hadn't happened, and disappeared into the night behind him.

"Huh," Priestly snorted. "It's nice how he holds the door for her." He flipped his spray bottle, shaking his head. He and Trucker exchanged a glance that asked, "Why does she go out with these idiots?" Aloud, Priestly added, "What a gentleman. He's a giver. I can tell." Not understanding why she continually dated losers, he muttered sarcastically, "Definitely a keeper."

* * *

_November 16, 2006_

The next morning, all four of them were scheduled to open because the annual O'Dell Kooks and Kahunas Rally was in town and Trucker was going to be there until late in the afternoon. October held the O'Neill Cold Water Classic, a serious annual surf competition. Sometime in the 80's a guy named O'Dell started the Kooks and Kahunas Rally when he got laughed off the beach after entering and placing last in the Classic. It was a goof contest that poked fun at the Classic, and it was growing to a point that it was almost more popular than the O'Neill event. Surfers of all ages and ability levels came out to surf the main beach as well as Steamer Lane and were awarded funny prizes like "Best Biffer", "Lull Master", and "Wax Eater".

Priestly found Piper and Jen already inside. Trucker had given him and Jen each a key a few months ago. Even though he'd lied about not knowing the combination to the safe, he did know it, and he got out the cash drawer and put it in the register while Piper set up the cold station and Jen started lumping ingredients into the soup pots for the day's selections.

Tying his apron, Priestly asked, "What's new, ladies? Any major developments since last night?"

Both girls looked at him. Piper laughed. Priestly grinned back at her, knowing she was noticing his brand new kilt. Well, new to him. He'd picked it up at a local thrift store a couple months ago but wasn't sure whether he had the nerve to wear it until now. In honor of the O'Dell Rally, he'd chosen a black t-shirt to go with it which read, _Surf Naked._

"Nice," she nodded. He shrugged.

Once the soup was cooking and the cold station was prepped, he checked his pocket watch. "Oh, crap!" he said, hustling to the front door. Five minutes late opening. Not a big deal, but not great. Thankfully, no one was waiting. Trucker had wanted them fully staffed just in case, but in reality, the rush likely wouldn't come until around one or two o'clock as the first wave of Rally contestants and spectators left and the second wave came in.

"So, where's the mother?" Jen was asking as she lifted her coffee mug. From the context, Priestly guessed she was referring to Julia's adoptive mother.

"I don't know," Piper replied, still working on darkening the penciled sketch of the shoreline depicted in her mural on the back wall.

"You didn't ask?" Priestly frowned.

"No," Piper answered, looking at him like he was from another planet. "I mean, as far as they know I'm just some college student. It would be weird if I asked…"

A full half hour later, the only customers were Mr. Julius, Lucille, and Bam Bam. If you could count Bams as a customer, anyway. They were continuing to hash out the situation with the Millers when Tish walked in, late.

"Oh, look," Priestly said, annoyed, "it lives."

Piper teased, "Barely!"

Tish was grinning too widely to care. Jen slid her coffee mug over to Tish and said, "Here, start with this. I'll make the IV drip."

"I'm in love," Tish sighed.

"No, you're in heat," he retorted, glancing down at the rest of the breakfast sandwich he'd brought in that morning. He lost his appetite.

"Oh, look," she shot back, "a man pretending to acknowledge the difference." She sneered at him. He made a face at her.

"Finally found an eleven, huh?" Jen asked.

"Mmmm," Tish said, swallowing her coffee, "twelve. I did things with Tadd I've never done before."

"Oh, really?" he goaded, "like what? Wait for the second date?"

Trucker came in, surprising him. "Well, the surf sucked!" He complained. That explained why he was there hours before he was expected. "What did I miss at our staff meeting?"

Priestly grinned to himself at Trucker's subtle way of asking why they were all just lounging around instead of working. Though if he looked around the room, he'd realize it was because they were dead except for Mr. Julius and Lucille and Bam Bam.

"Well," Jen began with a nod, "Tish is in love. Or lust, depending on who you're talking to." Trucker, having come up behind Tish, hi-fived her. If the look on his face contradicted his words, well, Tish didn't notice, anyway. Priestly knew Trucker wasn't crazy about Tadd. They exchanged a quick look as Jen continued, advising that Piper was continuing to deceive the Millers about who she really was, to which Trucker jokingly replied,

"Good. Nice to see that our company tradition of making the worst possible decisions in any situation has been passed on to the next generation of employee."

"Priestly's gotten in touch with his feminine side," Jen continued.

He grinned and held up his hands. "I love my kilt," he agreed.

"And," she finished, "I have reached a decision on meeting Fuzzzy."

Priestly stopped rubbing the water spots off of the glasses they'd done a half-assed job drying the night before and looked at her curiously.

"And?" Piper prompted as they all leaned a little closer, eager for her answer.

"Well," she shook her head, "we have all the same interests, he makes me laugh all the time, and I tell him everything. It's a no brainer. We have to meet," she said resolutely.

Priestly broke into a wide grin. "Right on," he nodded approvingly. He was a little irked as the others began asking what-ifs as if to try to deter Jen from her decision. Everyone seemed sure she had failed to give it enough consideration. He kept it light, joking back when Piper asked what if he was a woman, "Ooh…if that happens, can I watch?" And when Tish asked what if he was fourteen, Priestly jumped in with, "Ooh, if that happens, can I videotape?" He pretended the glass he was holding was a video lens. Jen shot him an appreciative look.

The questions continued with Mr. Julius wondering what would happen if he was paralyzed and Lucille wondering if he was, as she put it, "ugly as a Rhino's ass?" Jen had a quick response for them all. Priestly gave up, figuring if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and asked,

"What if he's got, like, crazy hair and more artificial holes in his head than real ones?"

Jen smiled fondly at him and replied, "Well, I could never be that lucky."

He smiled back, pleased with her response. He glanced at Tish then looked back at Piper as she asked when and where. Jen explained they'd meet the Saturday evening after Thanksgiving at a club in Morro Bay, which was basically halfway between L.A. and Santa Cruz. Then she winced a little and asked Trucker if she could borrow the Causemobile so she could just camp out before returning the next day. Trucker readily agreed.

Piper and Tish volunteered to go with her, which he knew was for both safety and support. Jen accepted gratefully. Priestly waited a beat. When no invitation came, he said,

"Yep, count me in."

He was a little hurt when Jen joined the girls, chorusing, "Forget it!" His face fell.

Trucker clapped his hands. "Can we get to work now?" he chided. Priestly knew he was only half serious, so he looked back at the girls.

"I'll drive," he offered.

"No," Piper said.

He looked at them in disbelief. "I'll buy the beer," he tried again.

Jen breathed a laugh and shook her head. He slammed down his bar towel and grabbed the tray of freshly shined glasses, now spot free, and complained under his breath, "I never get to do anything fun!"

The reality of it was that someone had to stay and help Trucker run the shop, and it was decided that that was going to be Priestly. Trucker was on the fence about the three girls going together, anyway, because it would leave them very short handed, but Priestly knew he also had a soft spot for Jen. Finally, he and Jen compromised. The girls would all come in and work Saturday until four. She was supposed to meet Fuzzzy at the club at nine p.m. They'd cut it close. It was a three hour drive to Morro Bay. That left them two hours for pit stops, checking into the campground, and, as Tish put it, getting Jen ready for the big meeting. Jen tried using how shorthanded Trucker and Priestly would be as a way to back out, but Priestly and Trucker shut her down. Both of them agreed Jen should meet Fuzzzy once and for all, and Trucker approved of the idea of her not going alone.

"Zo said he's good," Priestly reminded Tish when she expressed more concerns about the guy being an axe murderer or some other type of predator.

"Everyone thinks serial killers are good until someone uncovers the bodies," Tish reasoned.

He couldn't really argue with that. She had a point. Still, he didn't want Jen to back out. "Well," he mocked, "You can take care of yourself, remember? And, hey, if he turns out to be a weirdo you can just turn on the charm, have your way with him, and be back on the road by sunrise, right?"

There it was again, that look that freaked him out. The one that said he'd gone too far, cut too deep. But before he could apologize, Tish glared up at him and snarled,

"I would never sleep with someone a friend of mine was interested in, even if it didn't work out between them. Dick!"

"Hey," he said softly, grabbing her arm as she started to storm away. She looked at him, pursing her lips. "Look," he sighed, "I didn't mean that. I was just kidding. That's what we do, right?" He shrugged. "I sort of like how we joke back and forth, that's all. I didn't mean anything by it."

She softened a little. But then she just gave him a look, shrugged free, and said, "Whatever."

He knew she forgave him, though, when Trucker asked him to go on a supply run. He agreed only to have Jen announce they were out of tampons in the ladies room. Tish laughed at the look on his face. As he took off his apron and headed for the door, Tish took pity on him.

"Hey, Renaissance Man," she said, stopping beside him on her way to deliver food to a table, "if you need help, call me." She gave his hand a squeeze. Something in her face seemed less… He wasn't sure exactly. But she looked at him differently than she ever had before, even under the teasing look.

He tried to figure that look out all the way to the store.


	47. I Hope You Dance

_November 18, 2006_

Priestly sat in front of his computer thinking about Thanksgiving. He'd asked Jen if Fuzzzy remembered it was Thanksgiving the week of their meet. Jen said she'd asked the same thing, but Fuzzzy's family was local, so he had no travel plans. She'd finally gotten to go home last year, herself. This year, her folks had already come up with a plane ticket for Christmas, so she was staying in Santa Cruz for Thanksgiving. When he'd asked the same about Piper and Tish, it was a similar story. Tish's family was in California. Piper said she didn't really have enough money to go home that first year, even though Trucker assured her they could make do if she wanted to take a couple of days and fly back to Maryland. Long story short, Jen's trip to meet Fuzzzy was a go, whether she was starting to have cold feet or not.

This year, Trucker decided against closing down on Black Friday. He needed the profits more than he needed the break, he'd said. The robbery hadn't cost much in actual cash since most of it had been in the safe, but one of the bullets must have caused debris to impact the window and make a miniscule crack that no one noticed. Two days later, though, out of nowhere, there was a loud popping sound and suddenly the window spider-webbed into a million tiny pieces, scaring the hell out of all of them. A window that large cost a lot to fix, and Trucker didn't want to use his business insurance unless the loss was just too large for him to bear.

Priestly opened the "Jude" folder in his email and sat staring at it forlornly. Maybe it was thinking about Thanksgiving and the fact that it was going to be the 2nd year since Sally had gone to Florida. Last year's Thanksgiving had been better than he could have imagined. His mother made dinner at Leo's place and told him he could invite anyone he wanted, so he invited Trucker, Jen, Simon and Jean Fallon, Davis, Rawley, and, of course, Mel Shipley. His mother had been a little surprised by his choices, but she gamely prepared for eight people after Jen declined. They'd recounted tales of Sally's blessings and the forlorn eyes of their dog, Jetta, watching sadly from the deck. Mel was quieter than even for his normal, but Priestly knew change was hard for him, so he just let Mel take things in his own stride.

Priestly wasn't sure how he would have gotten through that first Thanksgiving without Sally if his mother hadn't moved to Santa Cruz. Sally had without a doubt been a sort of surrogate mom, and he still missed her fiercely. But the phone call he and Trucker made from Leo's kitchen before dinner made him feel a little better. Sally and Scoot missed them all, too, but they had rounded up a new set of displaced, lonely humans and in their usual tradition, they were busy at work building a new makeshift family, the Florida Edition. Sally laughed at Priestly's description but didn't disagree.

He sighed, closing his email, still either too much of a coward or too into self-preservation to read what was in it. This time of year always brought him a dizzying swirl of emotional crap that always left him inwardly chastising himself for being such a friggin' girl about it all. He rolled his own eyes at himself and shoved away from the desk to get ready for work.

But work was just more emotional crap. Only this time it wasn't his. It was Piper's. The other day, Julia and Noah ran into her while she was studying at the library. One thing led to another, and Julia ended up begging her dad to hire Piper to be her private art tutor. Piper had now adjusted her schedule to work mornings, which luckily fit in with her classes, which were already over with by the time the Beach City Grill opened. She was off by three to pick Julia up from school, walk her home, and make sure she did her homework before providing an hour of art instruction. After work yesterday, it seemed, Noah had a late meeting, so she stayed later than usual to look after Julia. They'd sort of had their first fight, and, as Piper complained, they weren't even dating.

"What did you fight about?" Trucker asked curiously.

Piper sighed. "Well," she conceded, "maybe you can't really call it a fight. I made lasagna for dinner, and when he got home and found out I hadn't had any, he invited me to stay and have some. So, naturally, if you sit down to eat together, you talk, and he mentioned he was from Pennsylvania. So I told him I was from Maryland and he started talking about how 'we' used to go to a little crab shack just over the Maryland border." She shrugged. "I, of course, used that opening to ask about Mrs. Miller. Only he shut down after telling me there wasn't a Mrs. Miller anymore. But things got really, really awkward, so I left."

"Maybe she died," Priestly suggested with a frown. "Maybe it just hurts too much."

"Maybe," Piper agreed quietly, cutting sandwich veggies for the cold station. "I don't really get that impression, though. But, whatever. He didn't want to talk to me about it, anyway, which he made very clear. So I left."

"Maybe he killed her," Priestly joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe she's in a freezer in the garage or something." He knew she'd know it was ridiculous, given how much he seemed to care for Julia and how tender Piper said he could be with her. But it met his objective. The ridiculousness of it made Piper laugh.

Piper shook her head at him as his farfetched suggestions continued. Maybe the Mrs. turned out to be a lesbian. Maybe she was a CIA operative. Maybe–

"Okay," she giggled. "Enough. I get it. There could be a million reasons he doesn't want to talk about it, and since I have secrets of my own, I should just get over it, right?"

"Uh…yep," Priestly agreed with a goofy grin, gathering yesterday's sandwich veggies and other ingredients that would become today's minestrone.

Trucker came up beside him and caught Priestly's shirt for the day: _Orgasm Donor. Ask for your free sample. _Laughing, he said,

"You're pushing it, kid. This is a family establishment."

"When's the last time you saw a kid in here?" he countered, raising one eyebrow.

Trucker frowned, apparently realizing he was right. The youngest kids they got were either too young to read or in their teens, which probably had to do with the fact that they were in an odd neighborhood. Trucker called it the dead zone sometimes. The only school in a ten mile radius was a high school, and even that was too far away to make the grill a viable hang out. Most of their customers, particularly the regulars, were established adults. In some cases, like Mr. Julius, Lucille, and Mel Shipley, they were downright elderly.

"Maybe we ought to work on that," he frowned thoughtfully.

"Are you hurting for money? Is the grill in trouble?" Priestly asked, suddenly concerned. This was the first year he didn't close for both Thanksgiving and Black Friday both, after all. Maybe there was more to it than trying to recoup his losses from the burglary. Looking at Trucker's expression, he realized he probably overstepped his bounds again and made a face.

"Nah, man," Trucker waved his concern away. "I just never really noticed it before."

Priestly shrugged. "Maybe we are a little too…laid back," he said carefully. "But that's why I like this place."

"Me, too," Trucker said, dropping the issue of his shirt. "I've got to run down to the corner for some supplies," he said. "One of you make sure to unlock the door and flip the sign in ten minutes, okay?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Priestly agreed, grabbing the two freshly washed and dried stock pots to start on the soups.

Not long after they opened, Piper finally did what every new employee did. Well, new-ish, anyway. Out of the blue, she suddenly asked him about his name. Or maybe not so out of the blue, he realized when he saw Tish and Jen pretending so hard that they _weren't_ listening that they made it completely obvious that they were. Priestly sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I don't have one." He grabbed one of the plates Tish was just finishing with and garnished it with parsley.

"C'mon, Priestly," Piper said beside him, not buying his answer. "It can't be that bad."

"Oh, yes, it can," He said, cutting the sub in half.

"I can't believe you won't tell us," Tish replied, amused.

"Believe it, babe," he said, turning to flip Mr. Julius' turkey.

Just then, Trucker pulled open the door and came in with the supplies. "Morning," he called, more for Jen and Tish than for Piper and Priestly. They'd just seen him a half hour ago, after all.

"Hey, Truck, you'll know," Tish said. "What's Priestly's first name?"

Priestly shook his head. Had she already forgotten how hard she'd tried to get him to tell them? Tish and Jen spent practically his whole birthday trying to get it out of Trucker.

Trucker slid his sunglasses up on top of his head and played dumb. "Beats me," he said.

"Yeah, but, it's got to be on his application, right?"

"Uhhh," Trucker began. Priestly grew nervous. "Now that I think about it, I'm not sure he even filled one out." Trucker shook his head. It wasn't a lie, either. Priestly hadn't filled out an app…only a W-4.

Priestly pumped his spatula in the air and chuckled. The phone rang, saving Trucker from any further questioning. When Tish answered it, she listened for a second and frowned into the phone.

"Anna?" she asked, puzzled. Piper went nuts, gesturing wildly at her. Anna was the name she'd given Noah. Realizing that, Tish said, "Anna! Yeah, Anna's here." Piper grabbed the phone.

Priestly went over to Jen and exchanged a look with her. Curiosity got the better of them, and they sidled over to her to try to listen in. Piper twirled around, trying to avoid them but only ended up tangling the three of them up in the phone cord. As Tish passed by on the way to the dining room to take Mr. Julius and Lucille their orders, Priestly accidentally knocked a tray holding one of the plates out of her hand, sending it clattering to the floor. As if pepper from the turkey sandwich made it all the way to Trucker's nose, he suddenly sneezed loudly.

Piper hurriedly ended the call and then turned to them with murder in her eyes. Tish shook her head.

"Don't look at me, I was staying out of it," she said, surveying the mess on the floor before moving on to deliver what food she still had left intact.

Piper turned her wide eyes to him and Jen, stomping her foot at them. "You guys! Thanks a lot for embarrassing me!"

Priestly ducked his head. Jen mirrored his posture. "Sorry," he mumbled. Jen nodded in agreement. Trucker just blew his nose, washed his hands, and said,

"C'mon, guys, back to work."

At two, Tish left the shop to go to lunch with Tadd. Priestly watched him roar away from the curb in his sporty little car and rolled his eyes as he had to slam on the brakes seconds later to avoid hitting a man crossing the street with a Boxer. He muttered to himself for a few minutes until he realized Trucker was regarding him with an amused expression.

When Tish returned forty minutes later, late, she was irritated. Tadd, as usual, peeled away from the curb.

"What's the matter, Tish?" Priestly mocked, giving her a dark look, "Sexual frustration? No time for a quickie to get you through the afternoon?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Shut up," she snapped.

"Seriously, Tish," he said, all sarcasm going out of his voice. "Why do you let him treat you like that?"

"What are you talking about?" she shook her head, exasperated.

"Oh, I don't know," Priestly huffed, "Always letting the door slam in your face, ordering you around like you're his servant instead of his date. 'Tish, let's go!'" he snapped his fingers, impersonating Tadd's impatience when he'd come in to pick her up for lunch.

Tish gave him a dirty look. "Mind your own business."

He rolled his eyes. "Fuck me for giving a shit," he shrugged. "You like assholes, fine. Didn't realize that was your thing."

"I like you, don't I, Priestly?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyes.

"Don't lump me in the same category as that," he shot back, irritated.

She blew out a breath. "What is your problem?!"

He shook his head. "Just wondering what it is you see in him is all."

She smirked.

"Besides that," he grimaced, not wanting to know what she thought of the guy in bed. Gross.

She just looked at him for a moment and then turned away to prep the order Piper handed her. He found it very interesting that she didn't have an answer.

* * *

_November 21, 2006_

"How was everyone's day off?" Trucker asked, entering the grill from the back.

Priestly looked over at him. "Fine. How was the surf?"

"It was great. I didn't want to leave, but I figured we'd be getting busy soon."

"Why are we closed Mondays?" Tish yawned, obviously having been up late with Tadd the night before. "Now I just hate Tuesdays, instead."

Priestly smirked at her. She seemed not just tired but sort of subdued. "You okay?"

She glanced at him warily, waiting for him to trash talk Tadd again as he pretty much did at every opportunity. "I'm fine," she said slowly. "Just tired."

"You and loverboy fighting?" Priestly asked.

"No," she answered shortly, which told him they probably were. She strode past him into the back room, her movements jerky like she was pissed off.

"Write down chocolate," Piper said suddenly.

Trucker peered over Jen's shoulder as she wrote something on an order pad. Jen looked up at him guiltily. "We're just making a packing list for Saturday," she explained.

Trucker grinned at her. "Chocolate is more important than underwear?" he teased, peering over her shoulder again. Jen turned red.

"It's not in order of importance," she answered meekly as Piper laughed.

"Sometimes it _is _more important," she retorted. Tish nodded her agreement.

The door swung open just then and Tish greeted, "Hi, Zo," as she entered the grill. Priestly glanced up at her and smiled.

"Hey, Zo. More misdelivered mail?" he asked, eyeing the envelopes in her hand.

She nodded, her laugh tinkling like the notes from a wind chime. "I've never encountered so many delivery mistakes before." She handed Trucker the envelopes she was holding.

"Tofurkey?" Priestly asked with a grin. "I know you don't want egg salad." As an afterthought, he said, "I don't know how _anyone_ could want egg salad after that last conversation."

She laughed again. "No, I'm fine. I've got hummus and vegetables today." She looked at Trucker. "I brought you some tea for that cold you thought you might be coming down with," she said, referring to his words on Sunday.

He took the little tin but shook his head. "False alarm."

"Well," she said, tilting her head to one side, "if you get that raw throat again, drink this. More often than not, if you drink it at the first sign, it won't go any further than the scratchy throat."

Trucker looked impressed. "Thanks."

Jen turned to Priestly. "Two Max Meat six inches, cold, one with no onion and the other with no lettuce." He nodded at her.

Zo's attention suddenly turned to Tish. She gave her a long, inquisitive look before saying softly, "When I was little, my favorite thing was to play on the see saw. But you have to have the right partner, don't you? If you don't, you end up stuck on the ground, never getting that exhilarating rush of almost touching the sky." She reached across the counter and cupped Tish's face. "Make sure your partner knows how to give you the sky."

The girls all exchanged baffled looks as Zo turned and glided out, her soft goodbye to Trucker hanging in the air, lingering after her. Priestly just grinned down at the subs he was assembling and hoped that if Tish wouldn't admit he was right about Tadd, maybe she'd admit Zo was.

* * *

_November 25, 2006_

As the girls were double checking their list of supplies, Tish stormed into the grill accompanied by the sound of squealing tires.

"Well, was that Tadd all pissed off?" Priestly asked with mock sympathy.

"Yeah, he's torqued about something as usual," she answered angrily, grabbing her apron out of her purse. They all sometimes forgot to take them off, even though they weren't supposed to take them home. "He'll recover," she added dismissively.

"Good," Priestly joked, making a relieved face. "I was worried he was mad at me for a second," he said. Tish came his way, an amused look on her face. Suddenly, she reached out and tweaked his chin.

"No," she said softly, "You're okay."

He smiled after her as she turned and headed out into the dining room. Glancing over at Jen, he thought she looked different all of a sudden, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. "Hey, Jen," he asked her, "did you do something different with your hair?"

"No, why?" she asked, puzzled.

He returned that look. "I don't know," he said, "you just look different." He pondered it for another second, wondering why Jen's face suddenly turned wary. He whipped around and went back to the order he was working on as Tish came back to join Jen and Piper at the counter.

A few seconds later, Trucker came in the back and called, "Okay, Angels, the Causemobile is ready to roll."

"Thanks, Charlie!" they chorused, laughing together.

Priestly and Trucker chuckled and rolled their eyes at one another.

Just then, Zo pulled the door to the grill open and came in carrying a canvas tote bag.

"Greetings, everyone," she said cheerfully, lifting the bag on the counter.

"Hey, Zo," Piper answered.

Priestly saw Trucker turn to smile at her. She smiled back and pulled something out of the bag, which she handed to him. Smiling gently at him, she said softly, "Take care of the temple, Truck."

He took the little pot she offered and sat it down on the counter. He couldn't do much more with it, as he was rubbing special soap on his hands, which she'd also given him, which removed automotive grease without drying the hell out of your skin. But he smiled stupidly at her.

Pulling a larger container out of the bag, emptying it, she said to the girls, "I made this for your trip."

"Does it have chocolate in it?" Piper asked.

Zo laughed. "Sadly, no. It's a mixture of ground herbs, petals and pods that'll bring wholesomeness and protection to you on your journey."

"Thank you, Zo," Jen said.

Priestly missed the rest of the conversation as he ladled soup into several containers and the scrape of the ladle against the stock pots muffled Zo's soft words.

"I have to run," Zo said, pulling her empty tote onto her shoulder. "I'm making tofu and lentil soup. Stop by if you'd like some," she invited.

"Hey, Zo," Priestly called. She turned to look at him. He saw her eyes rover over his shirt: _Save a tree. Eat a beaver_. Her grin widened just a little. Fighting a grin of his own, he asked, "Are you a vegetarian because you love animals or because you hate plants?"

Laughter bubbled out of her. "Oh," she giggled, "I do love you, Priestly!"

He grinned back at her fondly.

"Hey, I'm, uh, babysitting him by myself all weekend," Trucker said suddenly so that she turned to look at him. "I'd love it if you took a shift." She just gave him a look and pushed the door open. He watched her leave and blew out a breath that spoke volumes.

Priestly hurriedly turned his attention back to the bubbling soups, lowering the heat on both. He glanced up at Trucker, who was watching her step onto the curb in front of her shop. It seemed like Zo was interested in him. Whenever she came to the grill, she always greeted him and usually had something she'd whipped up in her shop for him. Pretty intimate stuff, if you considered how unlikely guys were to drink special teas or use special creams and lotions. Then again, Trucker was sweet on her, so Priestly knew he used everything she gave him just so he could make conversation with her about it. And, if truth be told, the stuff actually seemed to work. Like that burn ointment she'd given him, for instance.

Priestly made sure to get a minute alone with Jen as the girls were leaving. After saying his goodbyes to Piper and Tish, who just rolled her eyes when he told her he wanted a full report ASAP, no matter what time it was, he stepped in Jen's path, blocking her exit out the back door for the Causemobile.

She smiled up at him. "What?"

He just looked at her for a second. "Knock it out of the park, Jen. Seriously." They just stared at each other for a second before he tugged her against him. "Lock the fear away and just go for it," he ordered, stepping back.

She looked a little misty eyed, which she laughed about. She nodded. "I'll do my best, coach," she joked. He grinned.

"Damn right you will. Call me," he ordered. "I told Tish and Piper to call, but I'm sensing they're going to torture me with radio silence until you guys get back. I want an update tonight if you're not too wrecked."

She nodded. "I'll try."

Kissing her forehead, he smacked her on the ass, which made her jump and give him a surprised look. "Go get 'em!" he grinned. She couldn't help but grin back before she ducked out the door. He followed. Trucker and Zo were already out there, and he joined them in waving as Tish steered the Causemobile out onto the street.

Priestly shook his head and slung the bar towel he was holding over his shoulder. It was going to be a very, very long night.


	48. Fing Perfect

_November 26, 2006_

The suspense was killing him. He'd watched the clock last night, noting when it hit 9 p.m. This time, it wasn't because they could close the grill, although that was a relief, too. They'd been so busy he'd have forgotten to breathe if it wasn't automatic. Luckily, many of the customers were regulars and were patient. Priestly noticed 9 p.m. because that was the time Jen was finally supposed to meet Fuzzzy_22 after almost a year of online chatting.

He went through the motions of closing the grill down, not really minding when the chores took the two of them longer than normal. He met Patrick and Kelly at Mojo's with Mike and his date du jour. Mike, of course, mentioned Jude but immediately shut up when Priestly gave him a threatening look. He kept waiting for his phone to vibrate in his pocket, hoping for at least a status update text, and when it didn't, he pulled it out to check it a couple of times. It was on and charged.

Priestly wasn't due at the grill until 1:00. Part of Trucker's negotiation with Jen was that they needed to be back in time to open. Priestly thought about going in early just from the sheer curiosity, but his mother came knocking on his door around ten and asked if he wanted to join her and Leo for brunch.

"Yeah, sure," he nodded. "Let me just get dressed. I'll be down in a few minutes."

He'd thought brunch meant bacon and eggs on Leo's back patio, but what it actually meant was the local waffle house. Sitting across the table from them, Priestly watched his mother and Leo. They acted like an old married couple already, and they weren't even married. The oddest thing was that looking at them, Priestly felt like he was looking at his parents. Leo didn't try to act like his father, it wasn't that. The guy was nice, funny, and laid back, but it wasn't so much about Leo at all. It was his mother. She was happy and relaxed. She was interesting and outgoing and…funny. She was the best version of herself, all the things he liked about her and none of the things he didn't. She didn't defer to Leo. She chided him, teased him, challenged him. She wasn't careful with him, watching his moods. More than once, since seeing his mother with Leo, Priestly began to wonder if like him, his mother had been a little afraid of his father.

"Are you feeling alright, honey?" his mother stopped to ask him. "You're pretty quiet this morning."

He looked up from his pancakes. "I'm good," he said after swallowing his food. "Sitting with you two is better than dinner and a show," he joked, referring to the banter his mother and Leo had had going since they sat down. His mother laughed as Leo bumped her with his shoulder.

"The show's closing down now," Leo said, his mouth lifting up at the corners. "Your turn. What's new with you, Priestly?"

He shrugged. "Same old, same old. School, work. Lather, rinse, repeat."

Leo grinned. "C'mon, you're barely up in that apartment of yours. I know you only work until nine or so."

"Nine-thirty," Priestly corrected. "So I go to listen to some music or play pool once in a while. Big whoop."

His mother smiled, too. "What about girls? Any dates?"

"Nah," he sighed. "Dry county," he frowned.

"What about the blonde I saw knocking on your door the other day?"

He looked at his mother. "What blonde?"

"Oh, she was a cutie, wasn't she, Leo?" his mother looked up at Leo with a smirk.

He met Priestly's wary gaze and nodded. "That girl you used to run around with," he explained, his eyes roving over his plate as he searched his memory for her name.

"Jude," Priestly said flatly.

"Yeah!" Leo nodded.

"She asked me where you were," his mother told him. "I said you were at work. She asked if you still worked at the sub shop, and I said yes. I just assumed she was going to go up there to meet you."

He shook his head. "Nope." Curious, he asked, "How long ago was that?"

"It was Friday," his mother answered.

Leo nodded. "Yeah."

His mother wanted to know more about Jude, seeing as how Leo said they'd "run around together" and how she hadn't known anything about it. He shook his head. "Ancient history," he said. Though he wasn't sure he believed it. Not with the way her emails, infrequent calls, and, apparently, visits kept her in the back of his mind. He started telling them about Jen's drive to Morro Bay as a means of changing the subject. It only made him more anxious, though, to get to the grill and find out what was going on.

* * *

_November 26, 2006_

By the time Priestly made it to the grill, he was actually a little annoyed that he still hadn't heard from the girls. First, they leave him out of the road trip, and now they left him out of the loop, keeping whatever went down to themselves like one of those Vegas commercials. As the door banged shut behind him, he threw his arms up and gave the girls a quizzical look.

"Alright," he intoned, "I was sitting by the phone, waiting, wondering…I demand a full report." He smacked the edge of the counter. "I want all the details. What happened?"

Tish breezed around the counter, shooting the other girls a look he couldn't read but which brought him a sinking feeling. She put her hands on his chest and drove him backward until he was nearly over the chair at the front table. Sliding her hands to his wrists, she said quietly, "Look, there's a perfectly good reason why we didn't call…" Standing on her tip toes, she leaned into him so close he could smell the clean scent of her shampoo even as she began to explain to him that Jen bugged out on Fuzzzy.

Shocked, disbelieving, he glanced at Jen and saw her helpless, pained look. And then she looked away, her mouth turned down sadly. Piper went to her, put her arm around Jen's shoulders as Tish finished explaining how Jen told them she knew, she just knew, the handsome guy with the white rose would never want her. She took one look at him, ducked out of the club, and refused to go back, refused to try. Priestly turned to Tish, floored, and said,

"You're shitting me." After all her talk of looks not mattering, after all the worries and doubts she deflected…she just stood the guy up? Just left him waiting at the bar wondering if he wasn't good enough or approachable enough or if something terrible happened to her? Stepping closer to the laptop, he searched Jen's face for something. What, he didn't know. "Jen," he said, shaking his head, tossing his messenger bag down on the end of the counter, "please tell me you didn't leave Fuzzzy just sitting down there wondering."

Jen looked away, answering the question he hadn't asked without even saying a word. Glancing over at the customers, some of whom were regulars, he turned back to her, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "God damn it, Jen…"

She couldn't fully meet his eye as she rasped helplessly, "I don't expect you to understand."

He looked over at Tish, who was watching him, "Oh, I understand," he said, nodding bitterly, truly angry at Jen for the first time since he'd met her. "I understand you wouldn't talk to him because you were terrified he was going to judge you on the basis of your looks." He kept nodding. She looked relieved for a split second until he continued in a hard voice, "Yet you're completely comfortable doing the exact same thing to him." This time, when she looked at him, her face fell guiltily. Sighing, he looked over at Tish. Tish, who like Jen, judged on looks. Unlike Jen, she never claimed not to care about looks. He wasn't sure which was worse, but he was fucking fed up with it. All of it.

Ducking his head, unable to stop the angry outburst, he said, "Unbelievable!" Turning, annoyed but not wanting to take these other thoughts out on Jen, he muttered an oath and shoved the grill door open, storming out. He needed some fucking air. Less estrogen. Fewer pairs of shocked eyes looking at him, making him feel like a monster just for saying how he felt.

He strode quickly around the corner and headed down Nelson, not really knowing where he was going or what he was doing. He heard Tish behind him.

"Hey!" she called accusingly.

He ignored her and ducked into the little plaza about a quarter block down, full of quaint little shops and boutiques, flowers and benches. He thrust his fisted hands in his pockets to avoid punching some defenseless wall along the way.

"Hey!" she called more sharply.

He kept going, hoping she'd give up and go back to the grill.

"Hey!" she called again.

"What?" He asked in a clipped voice as he heard her running up behind him.

"Why are you pissed at me?" Tish demanded.

"I'm not pissed at you," he denied. "I mean, not you specifically. More like as a representative member of your gender," he spat.

"Oh, whatever," she said to herself. Looking at him, she raised her voice. "I thought that was really hard on Jen."

"Oh, really? Really, Tish?" he mocked, stopping on the pavement for a second and turning toward her. "Cause I'm sure it was a-a picnic for Fuzzzy, too!" he replied, searching for words. He rolled his eyes and continued walking. While everybody was busy fussing over Jen, did any of them stop to think how the poor guy felt, driving three hours to get stood up? Apparently not.

Narrowing her eyes, she caught up with him again, asking, "Why are you suddenly Fuzzzy's best friend? Huh? What?" She fired at him relentlessly, trying to get him to respond.

"Because it's pathetic, Tish," he answered irritably, gesturing with his hands. "It's pathetic that she can't rise above all this superficial horseshit that's swirling around her. I mean, why is it…" He squared off his body with hers and looked her straight in the eye. "Why is it that some people can't see a good thing when it's standing right in front of them, huh?" Something flashed in her eyes, just a quick flash that came and went. Since he had her there listening, some part of him said _What the hell_ and the words just kept coming. "What is it that screws all that up? Can you tell me? I swear, you're like two year olds," he complained as she looked away, "you're more interested in the wrapping paper than what's inside."

"Hey," she said, softer now. He saw her read his t-shirt to avoid looking him in the eye. _I sell crack for the CIA. _ He'd been excited about it, thinking Tish would recognize her teasing accusation about his name. But then, that was when he thought this might be a good day. "Are you talking about Jen?" she asked hesitantly, meeting his eyes again. "Or me?"

He stared at her for a long, harsh second. "If there's a difference," he said gruffly, "Let me know." With that, he turned and kept walking. Maybe if he took the long way back to the grill, he'd be able to get through the day without going postal on the next female who spoke to him.

* * *

_November 26, 2006_

Tish returned to the grill alone. She looked…stunned. Trucker waited for Priestly to come tagging along after her. When he didn't, Trucker asked lightly,

"Anyone seen Priestly?"

Tish, looking guilty, shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be back soon." She slid an apologetic look to Jen and added, "After he blows off some steam."

Trucker nodded. He knew the kid was bothered by external judgments. And he was no doubt annoyed with Jen after trying to boost her confidence only to have her run. Trucker hadn't asked for the story. He'd just tried to console as best he could. But Priestly's outburst before he stormed out of the grill made everything clear.

When Priestly came back a few minutes later, he said nothing, just tied his apron on and smoothly took over the grill. Trucker knew he was still steamed by the way he cleaned the grill. He typically put more energy into the task the higher his emotions rose. He was putting a lot of effort into it just now.

Gradually, however, he mellowed. Trucker saw it in the way his actions became less jerky, more fluid. He joked with a couple of the regulars instead of maintaining burning silence. By the time Zo came in, he was almost his normal self, though he still hadn't spoken directly to any of the girls.

Zo looked around the room, her gentle smile falling. Though Zo's powers of perception could be a little spooky sometimes, Trucker knew it didn't take special powers to feel the uncool vibes. He'd been feeling them, too, all afternoon. It bummed him out, the quiet and subdued atmosphere.

Zo stepped up to the laptop and just stood there until Jen reluctantly looked up at her, trying to smile. Zo's eyes were soft, her words gentle as she said, "If you never venture out into the sun, you won't get burned, but you won't get to bask in its light."

Jen nodded as Zo reached out to stroke her cheek.

Zo turned to him and his heart hit his knees. He felt like an idiot around her, usually losing the ability to speak coherently altogether. Somehow, today, the pressure was off and he managed,

"Hey, Zo. How are you today?"

She blinked and smiled. "Hi, Trucker," she said softly. "I came to see what your soups are today."

"Chicken noodle and Spicy Corn Chowder. Both non-vegetarian, I'm afraid," he said apologetically.

She nodded. "May I have a 4" marinated tofurkey, then?"

Priestly raised his spatula to show he'd heard the order, but he didn't greet Zo with his normal enthusiasm. She noticed but said nothing. _Tough room_, Trucker thought dismally. It wasn't his fault, but he felt like he was letting Zo down somehow. When Priestly wrapped and bagged her order, he gave it to her with a wink and a half grin.

Zo looked at him then reached up to touch his cheek. She said nothing, but something seemed to pass between her and Priestly. He grinned wider as she turned to leave. Glancing at Jen, she said softly,

"Remember…"

Trucker wondered if Jen would take it to heart and try again, or if she'd just sew up her broken heart and move on. Though he hated it, he suspected she was too ashamed of her own cowardice for the former and would opt for the latter, instead.

* * *

_November 26, 2006_

Piper's shift ended at five. As she left, she gave Jen's shoulders a final squeeze. Her look was purely sympathetic. Priestly was glad someone could give her that, the feeling that they were on her side. He wished he could, but this time she was wrong and he didn't think he could smooth it over or tell her it was okay. It wasn't okay.

Tish left at around seven with Tadd. Of course. Priestly didn't make any of his usual comments. Why bother? He could fight what was but it was becoming readily apparent he'd just keep losing. Everyone would keep skimming the surface, never going any deeper. He sighed.

At closing, he watched Jen wearily rubbing one of the tables in the same circles in the same spot for a couple of minutes. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize she had been shining just the one small part of the table top. Studying her defeated posture, he finally felt his anger give way to something else. Not pity…just understanding.

"Hey, Jen," he finally said, unable to take any more of her obvious sorrow. "Just leave it," he added softly. She turned to look at him, and he felt a little stab of guilt at the relief in her expression. He felt like a jerk. He knew she'd been waiting all day for him to forgive her and that her knowledge of his disappointment in her only added more weight to the dizzying crush she was carrying on her shoulders. "You've had a long day. I'll take care of it."

"You sure?" she asked softly, hesitating.

"Yeah," he assured her. "Yeah, go home. Get drunk," he joked softly.

"Thank you," she replied, gratefulness glittering in her eyes with unshed tears. He touched her shoulder as she passed, suddenly wanting to offer comfort where before, he'd been too disappointed. She recognized it for what it was, an olive branch extended. "Hey, um," she said, slipping her bag over her head crosswise, "see you tomorrow?"

"Yep," he agreed, nodding at her. He watched her slump out of the grill, head down and totally dejected. He considered going after her to really apologize, but he sensed she was close to breaking. Jen was not a crier. Not for herself, anyway. She'd get teary-eyed over someone else in a hurry, but he knew she had some for herself now and somehow, he felt like it embarrassed her and was something she'd rather no one witness. So he didn't follow.

He sighed, pretty tired himself, and turned back to the table she'd only cleaned in the one spot. Squirting cleaner on the glass top, he started rubbing the rest of the surface she'd missed, wishing people didn't always make things so difficult. If people didn't always want to judge, he reasoned, thinking of Tish and her stupid, humiliating sex scoring system as just one example, maybe people wouldn't be so afraid to just connect with one another. He was so consumed by this thought that the insistent beeping of the laptop didn't initially register.

_Beep beep!_

He turned and glanced over his shoulder. Two beeps. It definitely wasn't the ordering system.

_Beep beep!_

He knew it sounded the same as it always did. The tone hadn't suddenly changed to reflect the urgency, but it sounded somehow more and more urgent with each beep.

Priestly glanced around the dark grill, only the emergency lights on in the back. He could hear the sink, the sound of Trucker up to his elbows in dishes. They all hated dishes except for Trucker, so he usually was the one to do them.

_Beep beep!_

Priestly rounded the counter warily, as if he might see something he didn't want to see. Jen had left the chat window open. He wondered why she'd opened it at all that day. What had she planned to say to him if he signed on? _Sorry I_ _made you drive 3 hours for nothing? Sorry I'm a chickenshit? _Still, she seemed to hope he'd sign on. That explained the extra heavy sadness she'd had going on as she left.

By the time stamp at the top of the window, Fuzzzy_22 had signed on quite literally as Jen was leaving.

fuzzzy_22: Are you there?  
fuzzzy_22: Hello

fuzzzy_22: Please! Answer me!

As Priestly was reading, another plea popped up.

Fuzzzy_22: Ladybugger!

Leaning in closer, Priestly put his hand on the mouse, clicked the little chat box at the bottom. Then he hesitated. It was none of his business. But if Jen were there, would she have the guts to answer? With horror he realized Fuzzzy_22 probably had some sort of indication that someone was typing a response just by the fact that he'd activated the chat box. Shit. Now he had to say something. Otherwise, he'd be standing Fuzzzy_22 up, but Fuzzzy would think it was Jen all over again. Shit!

Ladybugger: _Hi. This is Je-_

He backspaced on the name. No names. Not yet.

Ladybugger: _Hi. This is Ladybugger's friend. I work with her._

In seconds, a response beeped in.

Fuzzzy_22: Is she ok? We were supposed to meet, but she didn't show.

He sighed, wondering what to say now that he started. He didn't want to make it worse.

Ladybugger: _I know. I'm sorry. She's an amazing girl, sweet as can be, but she's got a couple hang-ups._

There was a long pause that indicated Fuzzzy was typing. Finally, his message popped up.

Fuzzzy_22: I wondered. It's taken me a long time just to convince her to meet. Can't say I wasn't disappointed, though. She's not around there anywhere is she? I'd like to talk to her if she is. Tell her I'm not mad. Tell her I was more disappointed and worried.

He frowned again.

Ladybugger: _Nah, she just went home a couple minutes ago. Maybe you could come here, to the grill. _Priestly paused. He highlighted the suggestion he'd just made, hovering over the delete button. Maybe it was a bad idea to suggest that. He wondered again what Jen would be saying to Fuzzzy right now if she'd still been at the grill when his messages came in. He continued typing. _She was afraid you wouldn't like her. She's… _He didn't know what to say exactly. To him, she was just Jen. Geeky, funny, sweet, shy Jen. He deleted part of it and continued: _She considers herself below average in the looks department, okay? But she's not. It's just she works with these girls who are…unusually attractive. Then she saw you, and she thought you were out of her league so she panicked._

Fuzzzy_22: Me? LOL

Ladybugger: _I don't know. I wasn't there. She came with the two girls I'm talking about. The super attractive ones. Did you notice three girls all get up and leave suddenly?_

Fuzzzy_22: Can't say that I did. I was too confused, wondering if I got the wrong place or if she did or got lost or got in a car accident or maybe she saw ME and didn't like me…

Ladybugger: _Nah. She saw you. But like I said…panic at the disco. _

Priestly realized Fuzzzy had made no comment about his suggestion of coming to the grill. There was no indication Fuzzzy was writing anything back, either, so he typed a message and hit send.

Ladybugger: _Maybe you should just come here without telling her first. Take a look, decide for yourself. If you don't want to meet her and you're a shallow asshole, you can just walk away. Save her the disappointment and yourself an ass kicking. Because if you do come here and you hurt her, I have sharp objects and heavy cookware at my disposal._

He grinned humorlessly after he hit send. Wouldn't hurt to warn the guy against breaking her heart. He was sort of like her brother, after all, according to Sally. He wondered if he'd freaked the guy out because it took several long seconds before he saw Fuzzzy was replying.

Fuzzzy_22: There's a hole in your big plan. She knows what I look like. I can't show up without her knowing. Though I doubt you have anything to worry about. If I know her like I think I do, she's someone I've waited a long time to meet.

Priestly grinned at that, but he was right. She'd recognize him.

A soft rap on the front glass made him jump. Robby stood hunched outside. He'd wait there all night, but he wouldn't knock again. Priestly glanced at Robby and then at the screen. Turning, he grabbed the stacked containers of leftover soup off of the cold station counter and sprinted to the front door. Unlocking it, he reached out and offered them to Robby, who stood frozen in place. Trucker usually gave him the soup, but Trucker was still washing dishes in the back.

"It's okay, man," Priestly said quietly. "Trucker's in the back washing dishes. He didn't hear you knock. You want some soup? Good stuff today. Chicken noodle and corn chowder."

Robby looked at him for another minute. Priestly wanted to yell at him to take it or not take it. He wanted to get back to the laptop to answer Fuzzzy. Finally, Robby edged just close enough that he could just barely snatch the containers out of Priestly's grip. As soon as he had them, he backed away slowly until he was at the corner. Priestly shoved the door closed and hurriedly locked it again before skidding back to the laptop.

Fuzzzy_22: Still there?

Robby had given Priestly an idea.

Ladybugger: _Yeah. And I think I just solved the recognition issue…._

Priestly sat down on the stool to lay out his idea for Fuzzzy.


	49. No Stranger to the Rain

_November 29, 2006_

Another long day. Perhaps because the mood was still grim at the grill. Priestly was annoyed by the fact that Fuzzzy had suddenly gone silent. He'd hoped with their secret conversation on Sunday night that he'd at least continue trying to message Jen, but there was nothing. Although Jen was not as low as she'd been that night, she wasn't the same. He wished there was something he could do, but he'd done what he could already.

Trucker retired to the booth at the back with some research he was doing. He had books spread out all over the booth. Priestly asked him about it, and he'd muttered something about vacations and surf spots. Jen was already cleaning the ladies room, so Priestly decided he would also start on the closing tasks since they didn't have a single customer in the grill and they were just a little more than ten minutes from closing.

He was just coming out of the subzero when he heard Tish ask,

"Hey, Trucker, can I leave ten minutes early?"

Priestly glanced out front. Tadd. Of course. He grinned when Trucker replied pointedly,

"Sure, Angel. Just be careful if you go rollerblading."

Tish didn't answer that. She just grabbed her bag and shoved out of the grill. He grinned wider noticing she'd made a point to exit first. Her only mistake was pushing the door too hard. By the time Tadd got there it was stuck open. Too bad. He'd have liked to see the jerk get a face full of door.

Before entering the subzero, he'd gathered the day's trash from the bathrooms, front counter area, and back room area and stuffed them all into one larger bag. He ducked out the back toward the dumpsters but stopped when he heard voices.

"There's no way I'm ever going out with you again," Tish was saying.

Priestly peeked around the corner.

"What, because you got a little bruise?" Tadd scoffed, stepping toward her. Priestly stiffened as Tish stepped back. "You can't blame me if you're…clumsy," he added sarcastically.

Priestly felt acid burning at the back of his throat. So now he had proof of what they'd all suspected. The motherfucker gave her the cut on her forehead. He balled his fists, ducking back behind the corner of the dumpster, afraid Tadd was going to see him. While he wanted to get his hands on Tadd and kick the shit out of him, he knew Tish would be pissed off.

"Clumsy?" She asked, outraged. Her voice rose a little. "This would have never happened if you and Brad hadn't tried to force me to do something I didn't want to do!"

His eyes widened. What? What did they try to get her to do?! He felt sick. The acid feeling increased.

Tadd's laughter was mocking. "I didn't force you. Give me a break!" Priestly peeked again to see Tadd gesturing toward his car. "C'mon. Get-″ Tadd's expression darkened as he saw she wasn't moving. "Get in the car." His voice held a sharp edge now. Priestly ducked back again quickly as he thought he noticed Tadd looking back towards him, towards the shadows near the back door of the grill.

"Look," Tish said with a sneering tone, "Why don't you and Brad just admit that the girl's unnecessary and get on with it?"

Tadd's voice went low and threatening. "What are you talking about?"

"You're so far in the closet you can't see the light." Her voice dropped low so that Priestly strained to hear. "You and Brad are hot for each other. You just use the girl to pretend you're straight."

Priestly covered his mouth before he could bark out a laugh. Just then, he heard Trucker call something out inside the grill. Pulling open the door, he called back as loudly as he dared, "Hang on a second, Truck…we've got something going on out back!"

Priestly edged over to the far side of the dumpster where the shadows were deeper. He quickly turned his attention back to Tish and Tadd. Anger rose as he noticed Tadd had her pinned to the bricks and was leaning into her.

"You listen to me," Tadd snarled, "I'm no faggot. I was captain of the football team in high school!"

"Let me guess…" Brave now, Priestly watched her take a step toward him as Tadd was the one who stepped back. "You were a tight end, always too afraid of becoming a wide receiver. Why don't you just be a man and admit what you are?" She nodded at him. "No one cares that you're gay."

Before she could duck and before Priestly could react, Tadd's right hand flew out and struck her so hard across her left cheek that the impact spun her around and into the corner of the building with a gasp. That did it. Priestly barreled toward them. "If you ever call me queer again," he growled, thrusting his finger toward her, "I'll—″

Priestly body slammed Tadd, crashing to the pavement with him. After a few seconds of struggling, Tadd scrambled to his feet again. Priestly followed his lead, squaring off with him. Furiously, Priestly thrust an accusing finger at Tadd and bellowed, "You do NOT hit her!" Tadd stepped back and gave Tish a dirty look as Priestly spat, "You piece of shit!"

Tadd spread his arms and laughed, "What is it with you guys, huh?" He looked from Tish to Priestly suspiciously, as if they were dating behind his back or something. "Fine," he said coolly, gesturing at Tish. "She's a waste of time, anyway."

Priestly glanced over at her pale face and asked softly, "You okay?"

Tadd took advantage of Priestly's focus on her and lunged forward, sinking his fist into Priestly's ribs. Then, while he was doubled over, Tadd followed up with a punch to his jaw. Priestly hit the pavement again, smacking the left side of his head on the ground so that he actually heard the impact in his left ear as a _Bonk!_ Darkness swirled around him. He struggled to hold on to consciousness. He thought abstractly, _Fucking first rule of fighting. Don't take your eyes off your opponent._ Fuck. Mike was going to pee himself laughing if Priestly ever told him about this one. He forced the darkness back. Tish. He needed to help Tish.

"Hey!" he heard Tish yell indignantly. Priestly blinked at the dark film that swirled before him, trying to get it together enough to stand up and wondered if she was really socking Tadd with a right hook, or if he was seeing things. Tadd looked at her in surprise for a second. Priestly didn't have time to react or even call out a warning before he backhanded her, sending her reeling into the bricks face first again. Fury bubbled up in him. There was a buzzing in his ears. Priestly tried to rise, but his body still wouldn't obey basic commands.

Dimly, he heard Trucker shout, "Hey! Shithead!" Priestly managed to lift his head. He glanced back toward the building and saw Trucker glowering at Tadd in the darkness. Jen stood behind him looking nervous. "Why don't you try the old hippie?" Trucker taunted.

"Trucker, don't!" Tish cried out. Tadd knew how to fight, and he wasn't above taking cheap shots to win, either.

Tadd's voice was condescending as he asked, "What is it with you people?" Tadd paused for a second. "She's a cheap piece of ass. Who cares about her?" As he spoke, Jen darted quickly past Trucker and Tadd to huddle with Tish.

"That's it, pretty boy," Trucker said, ducking his head and spreading his arms wide before bringing them together in a distinctively martial arts sort of way. "Keep talking," he urged, shifting his weight.

Tadd lunged, but Trucker's left arm bent up to block his swing, and his right fist snapped out, popping Tadd in the nose. Priestly grunted softly and curled up into a sitting position, hunched around his right side. Tish looked down at him. Priestly saw Tadd try again, but Trucked blocked again and sent Tadd face first into the side of the grill's dumpster. When Tadd landed on his back, Trucker put his foot on Tadd's throat and spat, "You listen to me, you dickless Yuppie!" Trucker thrust a pointing finger down at him with each word. "Tish is a lady, and she's my friend." Tish and Jen both crouched down beside Priestly, but all of them were focused on Trucker and Tadd. "If I ever see you around her," Trucker continued vehemently, "they'll be running your picture on Unsolved Mysteries! Got it?!" As Trucker shoved off of Tadd's throat, he made a wordless growling sound. Tadd just grabbed his throat, gasping and choking.

Trucker wheeled around, his hair flopped in his right eye, his shoulders hunched. His eyes took in the three of them huddled together on the pavement, wide eyed and shocked into silence. He lifted an arm as if to run his hand through his hair but then stopped and put his hands on his hips, looking away down the street as Tadd coughed. Priestly thought he heard him curse softly.

"Uhhh," Priestly croaked, looking up at Trucker in utter shock, "Does anyone else think that Trucker might have some 'splainin' to do?"

Tish smiled grimly at his Ricky Ricardo impression. Priestly felt each of them put a hand on his back. Trucker took a few steps toward them, looking distressed. Then he lifted a hand to his head and sighed, not meeting their eyes, and said wearily, "Let's go to my pad."

Priestly looked at Jen and Tish, trying to figure out how to get up with the least amount of effort. Or pain. Jen took him under one forearm, and Tish took him under the other, and together they helped him to his feet. He hissed, curling around his right side a little, but he turned toward the shop, knowing that Trucker had to lock up before they could leave. Tish stayed beside Priestly as he lifted a hand to his brow to see if it was bleeding. Jen fell back to walk beside Trucker, who looked in their direction and asked,

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Priestly muttered.

Tish stood outside with him as Trucker went inside to shut the place down and Jen went inside to get her purse. Piper, who'd come down to the grill earlier to tell them about how she'd made such a fool out of herself with Noah, burst out the door and asked, "What's going on, you guys?" Just as quickly as she asked, her eyes widened, "Oh, my God, are you okay?" She looked from one of them to the other.

Priestly just dipped his head to look at Tish. "Are you okay, Tish? I mean, really?"

Tish shrugged. "I'm sorry," she shook her head, ignoring his question. "I'm sorry he hit you."

"Fuck me," Priestly spat, shaking his head impatiently. "_You,_Tish. How are you? He knocked you around pretty good from what I saw."

"I'm okay, Priestly. What about you? Why are you holding your side like that?" she demanded.

Priestly looked away. "It's okay," he said. "Old war wound," he joked flatly. Jen, remembering his beat down, gave him a worried look.

"Okay, let's go to my pad," Trucker repeated as he appeared in the doorway. They headed back around the corner of the building where they'd left Tadd gasping and choking. He was gone now, his car no longer parked at the curb next to the grill.

Priestly stumbled into the back of the van and sat on the bench seat by the window. Tish slid in beside him, tucking her hand gently against his side, and he winced. Piper slid in next to her and Jen hopped in beside Trucker in the front. Priestly sighed and dropped his head to the back of the seat, lifting his right arm and tucking it around Tish's shoulders, surprised when she didn't shrug out from under it. Priestly lifted his Mohawked head to glance down at her.

Gazing at her solemnly, he took her by the chin with his left hand and turned her face out a little to look at the ugly bruise forming where Tadd had backhanded her. He frowned. She frowned back and fingered the shadow at his jaw where Tadd clocked him. He flinched just a little. She pretended not to notice, probably as a favor to his ego. He dropped his head back to the seat again and looked out the window at the streetlights, which had gone fuzzy in the creeping fog that sometimes settled in at night.

Trucker wound around the streets of Santa Cruz until they stopped at his place. Tish turned to scoot toward the door and then noticed he wasn't following. She turned back, tugging his arm. He lifted his head and looked at her. He put his hand on his side again and scooted after her, trying not to make a face at the way his ribs twinged. He didn't think they were broken. When Troy had broken them, they'd hurt a whole lot worse than now, but now was no picnic, either.

Trucker guided them into his favorite room, the one at the back of the house that opened up onto the deck and into the back yard. Priestly sank down on the sofa with the beer Trucker offered and took a few quick tugs at it, figuring it would take care of any nagging pains. Jen sat down next to him, and Tish sat on an ottoman nearby while Piper sat on the floor at Priestly's feet. Trucker went over to one of the bookcases under the windows and returned with a volume. He handed it to Jen. "Page 148," he said, pulling open the sliding glass doors and sinking down into his favorite cushioned patio chair with the little cushioned footstool.

"I don't believe it," Jen suddenly said, shocked. "Gordon Hancock?"

They all crowded to look…everyone, of course, except Trucker.

"Senior Class Prez?" Priestly exclaimed in disbelief. "Captain of the football team." He realized what it meant. "No Woodstock? No free love? No peace rallies?" He looked at Trucker, surprised at the things he'd never told him. He felt a little hurt by it, actually.

Trucker watched them pore over the yearbook with amusement. He gave a short, sarcastic chuckle and shrugged, "I took the free love when I could get it. I mean—"

"No bongs?" Priestly asked accusingly.

"Well…" Trucker started, only to be interrupted by another rapid fire question from Priestly.

"No Grateful Dead concerts?" Priestly wondered if he might still be half conscious on the pavement behind the grill, dreaming it all.

"That came later," Trucker admitted.

"Well, what happened?" Jen asked, intrigued.

"Ohhh," Trucker sighed, looking at his feet, his hand tucked against his left temple. "I got drafted," he admitted, avoiding their eyes.

"Oh," Priestly said softly. Sometimes Trucker made references to parts of his life he didn't like to think about. This must be what he'd meant by that.

"I found out I was a sneaky son of a bitch, good at killing people before they even knew I was there. Funny, what you can learn about yourself," he said quietly.

"Jeez," Tish said softly.

"Did three tours," Trucker continued, wincing as he said, "lost count of the bodies somewhere in the second. So God knows how many souls I've got to face someday," he added, looking up at them abashedly.

"So, when was Trucker born?" Piper asked the question on all their minds.

"Welllll," Trucker sighed heavily, swinging his feet down from the footstool and leaning forward, elbows on his knees, "when I got home I started taking long walks at night on the beach. I met some crazy ass surfers," he said, shrugging. He flashed a self-deprecating grin their way. "They made me smile, you know, for the first time since I'd gotten back. I bought a board, changed my name." His smile faded. "But I swore that I would never hurt another human as long as I lived."

Jen and Priestly dipped their heads, exchanging glances. Priestly felt a little sick as he realized Trucker had broken that promise tonight. He watched Tish as she tried to meet Trucker's eyes, but Trucker looked away, back to his feet. Tish rose from her seat and slid her hand to Trucker's head as she sat down on his footstool. Priestly watched her lean forward and kiss him firmly on the forehead, her hand on his cheek.

"I'm sorry I made you break your promise," Tish said solemnly.

He frowned and shook his head. "Oh, no," he waved it away, "I said I'd never hurt another _human_." Tish dropped her hand from his cheek, slapping his arm gently, trying not to smile at his inference. "So, I'm cool with that, Angel," he added. Jen laughed softly. "But…promise me something?"

"Anything," Tish agreed softly, meeting his eyes.

"No more shitheads," Trucker said instantly. "Like…date a nice guy."

Tish dropped her hand into Trucker's and rolled her eyes. Priestly's breath stopped as she glanced at him for a long, loaded second. He fought a smile and looked down at his knees, knowing that if he didn't, he'd do something stupid like grab her and kiss her. She looked back at Trucker. "The problem is, um, that guys like that don't ask me out," she confided softly. Priestly looked up at her thoughtfully. Was she really just waiting for the right guy to ask her, settling for all the wrong ones in hopes they'd be the right ones?

"Hmm." Trucker considered the problem. "Well, maybe they could ask the wizard for some courage."

Tish gave him a little smile, but it was sad.

"That's it, isn't it?" Piper asked. "Courage? That's why you won't ask Zo out." Trucker looked down at his knees as Piper added, "You're afraid she won't like your past?"

His head snapped up. His voice was almost a desperate plea. "She's just all about love and peace, and I don't think that she'd accept it." Jen, still flipping through the yearbook, stopped cold as Trucker continued, "I wouldn't even know how to tell her."

"I don't think you have to," Jen said incredulously. Trucker and Tish looked at her. Priestly watched her in puzzlement as she rose to take the book to Trucker. "Zo's in your yearbook," she said.

He looked down at the page Jen indicated. "Oh, my God," he exclaimed. "It's really Zo!" Exasperated, he rubbed his chin with a chuckle. "Get out of here!"

"She's cute!" Tish squealed, surprised, as Piper clamored for the yearbook.

"Awwww, Trucker!" Piper said, grinning as Trucker asked,

"How did I miss that?!"

Priestly grinned down at the page, at a young Zo squinting up at the camera in the sun. _Freshman Zoheret Rosen relaxes in the quad, _it read. "I like," he said, nodding his approval before flopping against the back of the sofa, dropping his head against the backrest.

Tish looked at him. Priestly watched her shoot a worried look at Trucker.

"Priestly," Trucker rose to his feet, "are you really alright?"

Jen, who'd returned to the sofa beside him with the yearbook, got up again to allow Trucker in beside him. Priestly felt the sink of the sofa as Trucker sat down beside him.

"Yeah," he said, not bothering to open his eyes. He sat sort of sideways, his left hand beside him on the sofa, his right hand resting gently on his sore ribs. He opened his eyes as Trucker took him by the chin and turned his head to the side.

"Let me take a look," Trucker said, already doing it. Priestly flinched as Trucker gently swept his fingers over the side of Priestly's head where an angry lump had formed.

"It's fine," Priestly replied irritably. He was tired and sore and baffled by the turn of events. Trucker in 'Nam? Jesus. That explained why the guy slept so lightly. He was probably still listening for the subtle sounds of a sneak attack in the making. Priestly remembered everything he'd learned in school, everything he'd read trying to understand what his father went through…all the things his father wouldn't talk about. He thought of Trucker having all the same or at least similar secrets and felt profoundly sad.

The sofa moved again as Trucker got up, and Priestly felt the breeze as Trucker moved past him wordlessly. He drifted listening to the girls ask Piper more questions about what happened with Noah.

Her face crumpled. "Julia…" Priestly opened his eyes and saw her shake her head. "She's not mine," Piper fought tears. "God, I feel so stupid…"

Oh, man. Priestly accepted the old fashioned ice bag Trucker brought him with a half hearted grin, setting it gently on his sore ribs instead of against his head where Trucker probably meant it to go. He listened as Piper explained that somehow, even though this Julia wasn't hers, she felt like she'd lost her daughter twice now.

"I mean, God, here he's telling me how Julia's mom abused her and tried to kill them both and then suddenly I'm freaking out on his doorstep about how I'm not her mother. I didn't know what else to do, so I just took off running and didn't stop until I was home. He must think I'm a total psycho." She sniffled as Jen and Tish crowded in on either side of her to squeeze her shoulders and console her.

Priestly exchanged glances with Trucker and then dropped his head back down on the dilapidated old couch, drifting again, thinking about this crazy fucking night. He fell asleep to the soft murmur of the girls hashing out every detail of the Noah/Julia thing, intending to put his two cents in on the topic, but unable to create the words.


	50. At Last

_**A/N: A quick side jaunt here at the beginning before we go back to script. And anyway, it could have happened in the spaces between canon scenes. ;P**_

* * *

_November 30, 2006_

He woke up freezing, his head hurting like a bad hangover. For a second, he couldn't figure out where he was. Slowly, as he looked around the room in the filmy blue light that signaled pre-dawn, he remembered he was at Trucker's place. He sat up, wincing as he remembered his ribs a little too late, the light blanket someone had tossed on him falling to his lap. His head throbbed and spun. Fumbling, he found the now room temperature ice bag and listened to it slosh, now full of water instead of ice.

Priestly eased to his feet, noticing Piper and Tish curled up in chairs and Jen in a ball on the loveseat. He shivered and his stomach rolled. He crept down the hall with the ice bag and ducked into the bathroom. He tried the bathroom light but it sent an unwelcome thunderclap jolt of pain through his head, so he hurriedly snapped it off again. His stomach turned again.

When he finished in the bathroom, he thought water might help settle his stomach, so he crept into the kitchen. He half closed his eyes against the light from the fridge because it hurt his head, too. He grabbed the pitcher Trucker kept filled with cold water and grabbed a cup to pour it in. By memory rather than sight, he located the Tylenol and took three before carefully making his way to the office, his old bedroom. He fought another wave of nausea as he grabbed the old patchwork quilt from the sofa in there before returning to the back of the house, to the sofa he'd fallen asleep on.

Easing down, he untied his shoes and kicked them off. He considered taking off his jeans, too, but he decided against it because he was freezing and because of the girls. One of the shadows shifted in the dark.

"Priestly?" Tish asked sleepily.

"Yeah," he said softly, trying to arrange the blankets in hopes he'd somehow warm up. But he knew what it really was. It had happened after Troy Bennett and his buddies got a hold of him, too. The night nurse who'd discovered him shivering miserably near dawn piled the blankets on and told him he had a case of "head bang fever", one of the lesser known symptoms of a mild concussion.

He started thinking he'd only imagined Tish's voice, but then she appeared beside him in the dark, kneeling by the sofa.

"Hey," she said softly, looking deliciously sleepy, her hair mussed sexily around her head. "You're shivering…are you okay?"

He nodded at her, largely because he didn't trust his voice not to stutter from the shivering. She reached out and put her hand on his head.

"You're not okay," she whispered, her eyes glittering in the dark, "you're hot."

He couldn't stop one corner of his mouth from quirking upward. "Thanks," he joked feebly. But she didn't laugh. He sighed and closed his eyes, burrowing under the two blankets, grateful that the shivering was finally starting to subside. He drifted off to the murmur of soft voices, vaguely aware that Trucker's sleep-heavy voice had joined Tish's, but like before, he was unable to find his own.

* * *

_November 30, 2006_

Trucker considered Priestly, standing over him, observing his smashed green hair and paled complexion. Tish stood next to him with worried eyes. She'd barely touched the knob to his bedroom door before he was awake, watching warily to see who entered. It had been years since he'd slept with a weapon under the lonely pillow next to his own, but he found himself reaching for it, anyway, which had given him a chill. It was probably the fact that he'd told the kids about his wartime past the night before, but he felt jumpier than usual. They'd be surprised if they knew how keyed up he usually was. Mellow hippie was a cover he'd worked hard to perfect. He'd been working at it for more years now than he'd been alive when he was in the service.

Other than being bundled up under two blankets and a little pale, Priestly seemed okay. He appeared to be peacefully asleep, in fact. Trucker hesitated to reach out to test the kid's temperature though Tish insisted he felt hot. Tish's worry wasn't likely to vanish, however, unless he did something. Calmly, he reached out and put his palm on Priestly's forehead.

Cracking his eyes open, Priestly croaked, "What're you doin', Truck?"

Trucker smirked at him. "What're _you_ doing?" he answered back lightly.

Priestly's eyes darted over to Tish and then back at him. As if he understood what Trucker was trying for, he smirked back and joked, "I'm _trying_ to sleep."

He was making sense…that was good. But he _was _warm.

"Who's the president?"

Priestly chuckled. "Apparently, _you_ are. Or were. Prez Hancock," he mumbled.

Trucker grinned and nodded. "You'll live."

"Mmmm," Priestly agreed, already drifting off again.

Trucker stood up and put a consoling arm around Tish. "I think he'll be okay, Angel. You should get some more sleep. It's early."

She gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "This is all my fault."

Trucker shook his head. "You didn't beat Priestly up when I wasn't looking, did you?" Tish fought a smile. Trucker leaned over and kissed her forehead, much like she'd kissed his the night before. "Go to sleep. I might need to give him the day off, which means I'll need the rest of you. We'll see."

She nodded and curled back up in the overstuffed chair, pulling an old afghan over herself.

As for himself, there was no way he was going to be able to sleep again. Like it or not, he was up for the day. Might as well check out the surf.

* * *

_November 30, 2006_

Priestly blinked awake, feeling too hot under the two blankets he'd shivered under earlier. Sunlight blazed in through the uncurtained windows, but also unlike earlier, the light didn't hurt his eyes. Either the Tylenol really helped, or whatever crisis he'd been experiencing was over. He tossed the blankets aside and sat up, scrubbing his face gently with his hands.

"Hi."

His head shot up at the sound of Jen's voice. He glanced around the room. The chair Tish had been curled up in was empty, the afghan folded neatly across the back. Same for the chair Piper'd spent the night on. Jen sat with one foot tucked under her, reading a book from Trucker's shelves.

"Trucker told me to babysit you, make sure you were still breathing," she teased.

He cracked a grin. "Everybody else at the grill?"

She nodded.

"What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "Just after noon."

"Shit," he said, raising his eyebrows. He stood up, stretching carefully, his side still twinging whenever he moved. "Let me just get a shower, then we can get over there."

Jen shook her head. "Trucker was very specific. No work for you today. Once you're up I'm supposed to take you back to your place where your mom and Leo will take over the babysitting."

Priestly grimaced. "You told my mom?"

Jen shook her head. "Trucker did. He figured they'd be worried since you didn't go home last night."

He frowned again. Duh. Of course they'd notice. "Oh, man," he sighed, shaking his head.

Jen smiled sympathetically. "I know," she said. "Get showered. I told Trucker I'd try to be there by the time Piper leaves."

He shrugged. "I'll just shower at my place, since I'm apparently not allowed to go to work today."

Jen smiled and closed the book she was reading as he worked his feet back into his shoes. He was otherwise still fully dressed, right down to his army jacket. Once he had his boots tied, he folded the two blankets he'd used and was ready to go.

He frowned. "Wait. We all came here in the Causemobile," he said. "And, as far as I know, the Toyota needs a new alternator."

"I went with Trucker to get breakfast this morning, so we picked up my car while we were out."

"Ready?"

She nodded. "Trucker said you have a key to lock up?"

Priestly checked the sliding door. Locked. He made sure the dowel was in the track. Check. Trucker liked to close and lock the French doors to the room which had once been the exit to the back yard. He joked that it would at least slow the burglars down. Check.

"Alright, let's go out the front," Priestly said, putting a hand on Jen's back and gently steering her down the hall.

Since he knew it was pointless to fight it, he called his mother from his cell as Jen drove him home. Better to get the drama out of the way before he actually got there. He rolled his eyes and smirked at Jen as his mother fussed over him just like he knew she would. He protested he was fine, he was just going to go up to his place and relax per Trucker's orders. She argued with him over taking a shower. He compromised with her that she could sit in his living room and wait until he was safely out of the bathroom but then she'd go back to Leo's. He didn't need her to stay and look after him.

When he slipped the phone back in his pocket, Jen teased him mercilessly. He just grinned back and shrugged. "It's my mother," he said. "What do you do?"

* * *

_November 30, 2006_

Priestly rolled his eyes as someone knocked on the door. His mother had come by three times in the six hours he'd been back from Trucker's place, always just to "check" on him. He loved her, but he was about ready to push her down the stairs. If only Tish had slept through his brief period of wakefulness the night before, he wouldn't–

"Tish." He stood blinking at her.

"Hi," she smiled at him and then looked at her feet awkwardly before meeting his eyes again. "I just wanted to come by and see if you were okay."

He fought a smile. "I'm good," he nodded.

She held up a paper bag. "Trucker said I should bring you this."

The bottom of the bag was still warm, and when he peeked inside he recognized his new favorite BCG sub: The Maui Jim Jerk. Instead of teriyaki chicken and pineapple, it had jerk chicken and a funky black bean and mango chutney. They only put it on the menu like once a month because it was sort of a pain in the ass to make. He did a little happy dance that made Tish laugh.

"He said you'd be glad to see what was in the bag," she remarked.

"Shit," he said, remembering her. He stepped back to let her inside.

After a few seconds of silence, she gave him a puzzled look. "Wow," she said. "This isn't…what I expected."

He smirked wondering what she saw in the mission style dining table, the bookshelves, the ordinary artwork. "You were thinking black walls, skull posters, pictures of naked women everywhere?"

She fought a smile, looking caught. "Sort of," she admitted.

He chuckled. "Nope." He offered no further explanation. "Want something to drink or something?"

"I'm supposed to go back to the grill, actually." She looked uncomfortable again. "I just really wanted to say thanks, you know, for…" She shrugged and tried a little self-deprecating laugh. "For defending my honor last night, I guess. I should have known Tadd would be a total dick and go for the sucker punch. Maybe I could have stopped it."

"How?" he countered. "By throwing yourself in front of him?" Priestly shook his head. "He wasn't above hitting you, obviously, so this worked out the best way possible. Trust me."

She shrugged. When he walked her to the door, she turned and took his chin in her hand. "Let me see," she ordered. He let her turn his head toward the right.

"Don't touch," he growled as she reached to poke at the side of his head where it was still a little lumpy.

"I won't, you big baby," she teased, letting him go. "See you tomorrow?" she asked. Was that hope in her voice?

Priestly couldn't have stopped himself from grinning if he were standing beside a casket at a funeral. "Yep," he agreed. "Thanks for the sandwich," he called after her as she headed back down the stairs. She just held up a hand and waved backward at him.

* * *

_December 1, 2006_

Trucker was amused by the girls. They snuck furtive glances at Priestly for the better half of the morning. Mostly Tish, actually, but Piper and Jen, too. Cheerfully oblivious and completely himself, Priestly made his usual rounds and joked with the regulars, getting in a minor skirmish with Mel Shipley over whether President Bush should start pulling troops from Iraq. Both agreed he should start pulling back the troops. The argument was over how quickly. Mel paid his check and left in a bit of a mood, but Trucker knew he'd be back just the same. He'd survived worse arguments with Priestly.

Piper, who'd been stopped by Noah that morning as she and Jen opened the grill, replayed the conversation they'd had. She rolled her eyes as she said,

"The first thing he says to me is 'You can't hide forever, Anna…'. Overzealous much? It's been less than 24 hours. I'd hardly call that hiding forever." Piper frowned. "But I deserved that, I guess." She shrugged.

"What did you talk about?" Jen asked softly.

Trucker knew how much Piper missed her little girl, how confused and hurt she was that the adoptive mother had so suddenly and completely stopped all communications. Trucker wasn't sure, but he wondered if it wasn't worse that way than just giving birth and never seeing the baby after that. With what happened with Piper, it might almost feel like losing your baby twice…once after the birth, and again when the pictures and letters stopped coming.

"He wanted the full story," Piper explained. "He said he wanted to understand what I was thinking, where I was coming from, because it didn't make any sense at all to him. Coming from him," Piper shook her head, searching for words, "hearing him explain the situation back to me…God, it just made me feel so stupid, like I should have realized all along how unlikely it was that he was _that _Noah and she was _that _Julia, _my _Julia. But on the other hand, and the way I explained it to him, was how likely is it that there just happens to be a man named Noah and a little girl named Julia who's into art…it just seemed like too much of a coincidence to _not _be my Julia." She frowned sadly. Jen put an arm around her, squeezing gently. "But he called it wishful thinking, and he was right. It was. I wanted it so much I ignored the odds."

"What did he say to that?" Priestly asked her solemnly, fiddling with the bar towel he normally had tucked into either his waistband or his apron.

Piper sighed. "He was still so angry that I lied to him, so accusing. But I deserve it, I guess." She lifted one shoulder listlessly.

"You made a mistake," Jen said. "Maybe when he's had time to think about it, he'll be able to see it from your side."

"I won't hold my breath." Piper's eyes grew shiny. Priestly frowned. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She flashed him a half-hearted smile.

The door opened and a fresh wave of customers spilled in, forcing them away from the topic. Trucker shook his head. They weren't perfect, but he thought he finally had a good crew. Good kids, but still kids. Not that their struggles weren't real or meaningful, it was just that the problems they tended to have were things he'd been through already. Piper's situation notwithstanding. He liked to think they kept him young. And, of course, there was the fact that he still wasn't any better in the dating and relationship department than they were.

As the day waned, giving way to the weak afternoon light that would soon turn the world a pre-sunset orange, a fireman in full gear stepped into the grill. There'd been sirens in the area not long ago, and Trucker had noticed traffic slowing down on 6th, cars stuck bumper to bumper and not moving much.

Trucker stepped up to the fireman and asked, "Are you here to eat or is there something going on out there?"

"The latter, I'm afraid." The man shook Trucker's hand as he offered it. "We've got an overturned semi carrying hazardous chemicals in the area, and we've discovered a fairly substantial gas leak in a nearby facility. To ensure public safety, as a precaution, we're asking everyone between 6th and 7th west of Nelson and east of Gaffey to evacuate."

"Can we pack up the customers, or do we need to drop everything and get out?"

"If you can pack them up within the next fifteen minutes, pack them up."

Trucker nodded. "Will do."

The fireman was out the door, no doubt to go to the next business. Trucker moved to the middle of the dining room floor and raised his hands, calling for attention. "Folks, we're being evacuated by the fire department. You're not in any immediate danger, but it appears there's an overturned truck with hazardous chemicals on board and a gas leak has been discovered nearby, so as a precautionary measure, we're being asked to clear the area within the next 15 minutes. We're going to bring you take out boxes and settle your checks. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

Tish and Piper were in the dining room passing out takeout boxes before he finished the explanation, and Priestly was doling out the takeout cups, lids, and straws. Jen followed behind him shortly after with checks for each table. Trucker flipped the sign to "CLOSED". He glanced out at the traffic and saw Zo on her way across the street, carrying the straw bag that she only ever had with her when she arrived at her shop for the day or when she left her shop for the day. He opened the door for her.

"Hey, Zo," he greeted. "Do you need a lift out of the neighborhood?"

She smiled in delight. "I was just coming to ask," she agreed. "I'm not far from here, so I like to walk to work, but I figure they probably want us out of the neighborhood as quickly as possible. They assured me it's safe to drive out, but they've already blocked both ends of the street to new traffic."

That explained why the traffic jam appeared to be clearing.

"Can I help you shut down?" she asked him.

Trucker looked around. "Nah," he shook his head. "Just have a seat and relax. When we get the patrons out, we'll just close up. Everything else can wait until they let us back in. Did they say how long it would be?"

"They weren't sure," Zo said. "They gave me a card with a hotline to call."

The fireman had forgotten to give him one, so he jotted the number from Zo's card down on some blank tape from the register and stuck it in his pocket.

"Would you like some tea for the road?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," she shook her head.

As the kids went their separate ways, Tish riding with Jen and Priestly bungeeing his trunk lid down over Piper's bike, Trucker gestured to the door. "Okay, Zo, let me just lock up and then I can give you a lift anywhere you want to go."

Holding the door to the Causemobile for her, he made sure her flowing pink skirt didn't get caught when he closed it. When he slid in behind the wheel, she grinned at him. "This van brings back a lot of memories."

He grinned at her. "Oh, yeah? Did you have a VW?"

"I didn't," she shook her head. "But my cousin, Eliana, had one."

He eased the bus to the exit behind the grill and turned slowly onto Nelson and headed north. "Where to?"

Zo turned to him with a smile. "Since I opened the shop, I hardly ever get the chance to see the sunset. Since we have this gift of time," she suggested, "what do you think of going to the beach and watching the sunset?"

He smiled back at her. "I think that's a fantastic idea," he agreed.

They were silent the rest of the way to the beach, and they were silent as they trudged through the sand together. Trucker looked at her in the waning light of day and saw the girl from the yearbook superimposed over the Zo he knew now. He shook his head, unable to stop a soft chuckle at his own blindness. How could he not have recognized her? Zo looked over at him curiously.

"What?" she asked, searching his face.

"What would you say if I said we went to high school together?" he asked.

She paused for a moment, looking out at the ocean. She gestured to some rocks by the water. He nodded, reaching out a hand to her to help her as she made her way to one and eased down on it, the offshore breeze causing her gauzy skirt to billow around her. As she tucked it around her legs, she squinted over at him a little in the bright orange light. "I'd say I already knew that, Gordy."

He blinked as she used his high school nickname. With a short, sharp laugh, he replied, "What? You knew?"

She nodded, smiling indulgently at him. "I knew the moment I met you. When Priestly introduced you as Trucker, I was a little confused, but I figured you had your reasons." She stared out into the distance before slowly adding, "The war took so much from us all. I lost my cousin, Asher, in Vietnam." She looked over at him. "Eliana's older brother," she explained. "I don't know what your time in the service was like, but I'm sorry for it…sorry you went through that."

"How did you–?" Trucker shook his head, searching her gentle eyes but finding nothing but understanding.

She smiled gently. "They published a list in the paper of all the young men who were drafted." She looked down at her lap, her hair flipping into her face in the wind. Pulling the strands off, she looked back up at him. "And everyone watched the paper for the lists of soldiers wounded or killed." She shook her head. "Those were awful days," she said, her fingers still holding her hair away from her head. "They were always published on Wednesdays, the names. You know, I still hate Wednesdays. I wake up with this feeling of dread."

"Wow," he said. He was floored. Just floored. She knew. All this time. Not just that he went to school with her but that he'd been in 'Nam. Cocking his head at her, he said more than asked, "So you always knew about me being in the war."

She nodded.

He dipped his head. It blew his mind. It just blew his mind. "You were three years behind me?" he clarified.

She nodded again, and then looked toward the cliffs and the sinking sun, fighting a smile. She lost the fight as she blew out a breath and said, "Course, I was crazy for you. All the girls were." He rolled his eyes good naturedly, a little embarrassed as she turned back to him, highly amused at his reaction. "Never paid much attention to the freshman girls," she said. Then, with a matter-of-fact look, she added, "especially not nerdy, flat chested ones."

He laughed softly with her both amused and a little abashed at her self-deprecating smile.

"You know, Trucker," she mused, "no matter how much you grow up, sometimes high school is right there, breathing down your neck." Zo regarded the cliffs again for a moment before turning back as if to gauge his reaction.

Shaking his head, he looked down at the sand before meeting her eyes. "It just blows my mind that _I_ was your high school fantasy." Especially since he'd been taken by her since the moment she'd moved in across the street. All the time he spent tongue tied, trying to work up the nerve to ask her on a date, and she'd been right there in front of him, albeit years ago, just wishing he would ask that very question.

"It's true," she admitted.

He rubbed his hands together, unable to stop grinning. "So," he asked bashfully, peeking up at her, "what did you fantasize about us? Watching the sunset at the beach?"

"Sometimes," she nodded, glancing back at the cliffs where the sun was blazing, seeming to set the edges on fire.

"Yeah," he agreed. He'd fantasized, too. Maybe not back then. His loss on that one. But certainly since she took over Stabler's. "What else?" he asked softly.

"Stuff," she replied, her voice rising in pitch. The question seemed to mortify her.

"Tell me," he urged.

"Trucker, my high school fantasy was…" she took a breath as if to fortify her courage before turning back to face him, "that we were in love, that when we looked in each other's eyes, time would stand still and our hearts would forever beat as one."

She looked back toward the cliffs again. She missed the tiny nod he gave her. He tried for words, then closed his mouth. She was right here admitting to him all the high school dreams she'd cherished. He'd been knee deep in swamp water in jungles whose names he still couldn't pronounce with an unseen enemy closing in. He'd been inches from mortal danger more times than he could count and had woken gasping and drenched in sweat from reliving many of those moments in his sleep. But this moment, right now, he was more afraid than he could recall being. He was more afraid as he glanced over at her, his voice miraculously calm and even as he said solemnly, "I'm sorry it took so long."

Zo looked at him for a moment, speechless, before she replied with a shaky laugh, "That's okay."

He looked into her face, this face he'd memorized over the last year or so, this face he'd turned to for imaginary comfort when he still occasionally woke from those awful dreams, and he slowly leaned closer. He saw the understanding come over her and she leaned toward him.

When he claimed her mouth, he was startled to find she felt familiar, as if all the time spent dreaming of her had somehow been something they'd both felt, both experienced before. As the sun made its final surrender, they surrendered to each other.


	51. Change Your Mind

_Saturday, December 2, 2006_

"You people are too naïve," Priestly complained as he paused chopping veggies for the soup Trucker was assembling beside him.

"So, you're saying that Chapman _did _pull the trigger?" Piper asked disbelievingly.

"Affirmative," Priestly nodded. Trucker shook his head in disagreement. At the same time, Tish breezed by and stuck a ticket in his Mohawk with a smirk.

"Order up," she said lightly, continuing on her circuit back to the dining room. Priestly gave her a look that said, "Really, Tish?".

"But he was just a CIA–" Piper began.

"No!" Priestly cut her off vehemently, "He was programmed, right down the line!"

"No, no…" Trucker shook his head, stirring the soup. "The threat was over, man. By then he was just doing sappy love songs for Yoko, and–″

"What?!" Priestly squeaked, so sure Trucker would be in full agreement with him on this one.

A voice from the door chipped in with another opinion. "No, no...Lennon was coming alive again. Reagan had just taken office, he had to be taken out."

Priestly glanced up at the guy in the green shirt at the door. He had a little girl with him. Priestly was glad just then that he was wearing one of his less offensive t-shirts, especially given the conversation he and Trucker had recently had over his Orgasm Donor shirt.

Piper's eyes went wide.

"Exactly!" Priestly nodded, pointing at the guy, realizing from Piper's reaction he had to be Noah. The little girl, then, must be Julia. "Thank you," He added as Trucker moved past him with the stock pot. "Thank you." He said again, then called after Trucker, "See?!" Nodding approvingly at the guy, he turned back to the grill. "Genius!"

Behind him, Piper asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk for a minute?" When Piper said nothing, he added, "Or maybe we should come back when you're on a break or something?"

"I can take a break now," she replied quickly. "Priestly, would you tell Trucker I'll be back in a few minutes?"

Priestly nodded. "Copy that," he agreed cheerfully, having won the debate.

When Piper returned, she was smiling, which made him grin even wider. The day was freaking awesome. First, Trucker told them he had an interesting conversation with Zo about the past. As it turned out, she'd known all along about the war and the fact that he was drafted. They'd sat on the beach until it got too dark, and then they'd moved the conversation to his back deck.

"She told me they put the names of all us draftees in the paper and every week they published a list of wounded or killed soldiers." He'd shaken his head. "She said every week she'd sit down and take a deep breath and pray she didn't recognize any of the names." His face fell when he added. "Her cousin died in Vietnam."

After a moment of silence, Piper smiled and asked, "So you two are an item now?"

Trucker laughed, shaking his head in wonder. "Guess so." Priestly grinned. Trucker was smiling all over the grill that day.

Then there was Piper, who mended fences with Noah, who officially asked her to fill the vacant spot in their family. She'd accepted. So she and Trucker were both smiling all over the grill. Things were looking up. If he could just get up the nerve to ask Tish out, they might have a third pairing in the place. His face fell as he thought of Jen, who still checked nightly for messages from Fuzzzy to no avail.

He shook his head as he assembled a couple of Sallys for an internet order. Man, that guy really let him down. Not a freaking word since he'd suggested Fuzzzy come down to the grill to take a look at Jen for himself. He wondered then if maybe he already _had. _Priestly frowned wondering if maybe Fuzzzy came in, took a look, and walked out again. No. He refused to believe that. But if it was true, he was sorry he'd missed it because he would have cheerfully brained the guy with his bacon press for being a shallow douche bag.

At seven, as always, the little strand of Christmas tree lights Trucker had strung through the potted plants in the front window popped on, signaling the start of the final two hours to close. Sometimes Priestly felt like the lights would never come on, but tonight he was surprised at how quickly they did. He heard the door squeak open just then.

Priestly glanced over. Some customers on their way out the door took wide berth around the grizzly, disheveled-looking man who'd just entered. He watched the guy shuffle to the counter, his head down, not making eye contact with anyone. Clearly homeless. Probably hungry. As Trucker passed, headed for his booth, he greeted softly,

"Hey, man."

The man's head turned Trucker's way for a second, which was unusual. Generally, the few homeless guys bold enough to enter during business hours were very skittish. They didn't make eye contact and they didn't generally speak. If they did, Jen often had to ask them to repeat themselves.

"Hi," Jen said, looking straight at him. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No," the man answered so that even Priestly could hear him at the grill. Weird.

Jen looked down at her hands for a moment before asking, "Well, how can I help?"

"You're pretty," the guy rasped.

Priestly blinked at him. He wore a torn trench coat, and his shaggy hair was covered in a green knit cap. He had his hands in his pockets. But he peered up steadily at Jen from under that shaggy hair. He glanced at Jen, who had her head down. She smiled down at the keyboard on the laptop and shook her head a little.

"I don't know about that," she said, lifting her head again to smile at the guy.

"I do," came the soft reply from the other side of the counter. He turned his head just a little, and Priestly could see past the hair and the dirt smudges that the guy was young. Younger than any of the local homeless dudes that came into the grill.

Priestly tilted his head back, watching suspiciously. His heart started beating faster. What was this? Some sort of diversion? Were they about to get robbed again? He glanced around the room, but everybody else just looked like normal customers. Most he recognized from previous visits, anyway. He looked outside. His fingers automatically curled tighter around the handle of the paring knife he held.

"Well, thank you," Jen replied, watching him with a measure of bewilderment.

"You're very pretty," the guy continued with a little nod, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Another idea began to form in Priestly's head about who the guy might be, and he held his breath. As Jen ducked her head again, the grungy guy said firmly, "And you're exactly who I'd hoped you'd be." Priestly couldn't hide the grin that ripped across his face as the guy slowly peeled off the green knit cap, taking the scraggly hair with it to reveal a much neater haircut. Solemnly, he added the one word which confirmed his identity: "Ladybugger."

Piper and Tish gaped at Priestly in quick surprise as if to silently ask if he was seeing what they saw. Jen's mouth dropped open a little in surprise, her face bewildered. And when Fuzzzy pulled a white rose out of his torn, dirty trench, the smile that bloomed across Jen's face hit Priestly right in the gut. Beautiful!

Fuzzzy moved to the end of the counter, extending the rose toward her as she slid off her stool, looking a little overwhelmed. But she took the rose and stepped into Fuzzzy's tentative embrace. The way they just clung to each other softly for a long moment spread giddy warmth all through him. Jen deserved it more than just about anyone he knew. As she and Fuzzzy eased back from each other, he couldn't resist.

Pointing finger their way, he cried joyously, "I punk'd you, baby!"

When Jen smiled at him in amazement and Fuzzzy looked his way with amusement in his eyes, Priestly shrugged and added gleefully, "Gotta remember to log off your computer, Jen."

Jen's grin widened. Fuzzzy's face lit with understanding. Looking down at Jen, he asked softly,

"Can we, um, can we go somewhere and talk? Face to face for a change?"

Priestly glanced over at Trucker, who was also grinning and, if truth be known, a little teary eyed, and watched him nod at Jen. In turn, Jen dipped her head and replied, "I'd like that."

"Uh," Fuzzzy glanced over at Priestly, Tish, and Piper for a second before looking back at Jen. "I'm Jeff Kenline, by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jeff Kenline," Jen answered, twirling the rose gently in her fingers. The two of them moved toward the door in unison.

"Hey, dude!" Priestly called just before they could step outside.

"Yeah?" Jeff asked softly, pausing with one hand on the door.

"Uh, where'd you get Fuzzzy_22 from?"

"Oh," Jeff shook his head dismissively. "I got that account when I was working on my senior thesis. It was on fuzzy logic, and, uh, I was twenty-two." Smirking at Priestly, he asked, "What? Did you think I was a cop or something?"

"Nah," Priestly waved it off, a little embarrassed. "of course not." He glanced over at Piper and Tish, who were way too amused at his discomfort. "That'd be stupid," he said, shaking his head. "A cop," he laughed a little. He felt Tish nudge him from behind as if to call him out on his prior ponderings. Locking his eyes on Jen's shining face, he met her gaze with a little wave and a thumbs up. And then she turned and ducked out the door with Jeff, the two of them disappearing into the dusky twilight.

Priestly turned to the girls, rubbing his bar towel between his hands. "Who says a cop? I mean, honestly, w–"

Piper looked at him in amazement, shaking her head. "Did you do that?" she asked, blinking at him as if she didn't know him.

He didn't answer, just grinned a little and looked over her shoulder, a little embarrassed by the rapt way Tish and Piper were staring at him. Piper reached out and smacked his arm as Tish said,

"Awesome!"

He turned back toward the grill to hide the fact that his face was going red, holding up his hands and replying only, "Eh!"

The rest of the night melted away quickly. Jen never came back to the grill, but she called in. Priestly happened to be closest to the phone, and when he answered it, she asked him if he would ask Trucker if he could just consider it personal time. He tipped his chin at Trucker, who was already looking his way to see if he needed to take the call or if it was just an order. Priestly nodded and pointed at the phone.

"He's coming…"

"Hey, Priestly?" Jen asked.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure you'll remind me how many I owe you, but thanks."

He laughed. "You bet, Jen." He made a little clicking noise at her with his tongue and passed the phone to Trucker.

Priestly glanced up and caught Tish staring at a tall, muscular guy in low slung surf shorts and a tight tank top. He had a cheesy looking shark's tooth pendant on a leather cord around his neck and several leather bracelets on. The kind of guy who dressed like that on the weekends but no doubt wore dress slacks and button downs and did the whole 9-5 thing in some office and drove something flashy. His mood crashed as he realized the guys she wanted, the type she was attracted to…they were everything he used to be but wasn't anymore. Or, everything he didn't _want_ to be.

He watched her flirt with the guy, surprised when she took it no further. He thought about asking her out for drinks after work, but every time he tried to get up the nerve he closed his mouth again. The way she stuck the order ticket in his Mohawk that morning…it bothered him. Not that it wasn't funny. He could see the humor in it. Of course he could. But was that all he was in her eyes? A funny…thing? A funny thing to stick paper on like he was some kind of punk Christmas tree, some kind of thing that amused you but that you couldn't take seriously?

After everything they'd been through at the grill together…the robbery, the fight out back with Tadd…was it still impossible to think she might actually _look _at him? See him? See something worthwhile instead of just this novelty of a crazy haired, class clown sort of guy? Priestly's mood flattened out considerably as he wondered if the only way she'd ever really _see _him was if he looked like all the preppy Tadd types. If he looked like Boaz.

He sighed as he realized the most likely answer was yes.

* * *

_December 5, 2006_

Priestly stood with his hand on the knob to his front door. He desperately wanted to run back into his bedroom, tear off the khakis and light blue button down he was wearing, kick off the fucking dress shoes that pinched and would no doubt leave him half crippled and hobbling by the end of the day, spike and color his hair, and put every last piece of metal back into every empty hole in his fucked up head. But if this was what it would take to get Tish to really, really look at him, he'd give it one last college try. But if they laughed him out of the grill, he wasn't sure he wouldn't have to quit and find another job just from the sheer humiliation.

Taking a deep breath, he prayed to anyone or anything that might be listening that his mother and Leo were not anywhere out front. _Just let me make it into my car and out of the driveway, _he begged. And then, of course, somehow let him drive to the grill without whipping the car around and coming back home to undo it all before anyone could see. He felt naked. Like one of those God awful dreams where one second you're fully dressed and the next second your pants are missing and you're sitting on a bus with a bunch of nuns trying to figure out why you're naked and–

"Enough!" he yelled to his empty apartment, barreling out the door and hastily pulling it closed behind him. He locked it so fast he had to try the knob to make sure it took.

Thank God. No one was outside. He felt the giant mutant butterflies fluttering in his stomach and took a deep breath.

"You can do this, man," he muttered to himself, his own hand seeming alien to him without the chunky rings on nearly every finger.

His luck held. He was able to walk into the grill to start his shift without running into anyone he knew. Inside, a quick sweep of the room brought him even more relief. Amazingly, the place was nearly empty. Because of that, Piper was working on her mural, which was now base colored. She was starting to add highlights and shadows. Jen and Trucker were sitting in a booth together, going over some sort of paperwork.

"So, one tuna sub and a veggie sub," Tish was saying to a couple at the counter. When they agreed the order was correct, she said, "Okay, here're your drinks." Pushing the paper cups across the counter, Tish told the couple, "About ten minutes…"

Priestly stepped up to the counter as the couple moved over to sit down and wait at one of the booths. Tish, looking down at her order pad, didn't immediately notice him. He almost bolted, but he figured if Jen or Trucker or Piper had noticed him, he'd end up feeling like an even bigger moron.

Still looking down at her pad, Tish sighed and asked absently, "Alright, what can I get for you?"

When no answer came, she lifted her head. He stepped closer, swallowing hard as her eyes clouded with confusion. Before he could manage to open his mouth, her expression cleared to one of amazed amusement.

"Holy shit," she giggled.

He could all but feel Trucker, Jen, and Piper look their way. He couldn't see it, but he sure as hell felt it in the soft gasps he heard.

"Miss Madison," he dared, "it would be my pleasure if you would agree to accompany me to dinner tonight."

Her smile grew wider as she just took him in, starting with his college prep hair cut and filtering down his cleanly shaven, metal free face to his clothes. _Naked. _He couldn't stop the thought, the feeling. _Fucking naked on a bus full of nuns. Great._ Finally, when he thought he might just pass out on the floor, she looked at him with a mischievous grin. "It depends," she answered.

"On what?" he asked, his eyes roving over her face for clues.

"I want to know your first name," she teased, licking her lips.

Behind him, he heard Trucker's laugh. "Yeah!"

He shot Trucker a wounded look. Piper, too, looked at him in gleeful anticipation. Prieslty looked back at Tish. "C'mon, give me a break," he pleaded. "I went to Banana Republic, for Christ's sake."

Tish didn't reply. She just shrugged and looked up at the ceiling as if to say, "I'm waiting…."

He waited, hoping he could wait her out, but she just kept staring up at the ceiling as if it were the most fascinating thing she'd ever set eyes on. He sighed heavily, looking down at the pink and white floor tiles, muttering, "Dammit!" Glancing upward but unable to look her in the face, he looked at her hands, instead. "Boaz," he said softly, hoping the others wouldn't hear.

"Can't hear you," Tish said flatly.

His shoulders slumping in defeat, he said a little louder, "Boaz, alright? My-″ he took a breath. "My first name is Boaz."

"Boaz?!" Jen called in disbelief.

He turned toward her a little. "Shut up," he shot back in clipped tones, feeling his face grow warmer as Piper's squealing laugh cut through the dining room. _Naked. Naked. Fucking naked._

With an amused smile, Tish leaned forward conspiratorially. "Can I tell you something, Boaz?" she asked.

He stepped closer to the counter. She nodded at him encouragingly. "Okay," he agreed.

Nodding back, she explained, "This is something I've never told anyone else."

Intrigued now, he leaned forward as she leaned a little farther in, sensing she might be about to whisper some kind of secret. "Yeah, of course."

"Tish," she said, cringing a little at her next words, "is short for Platicia."

"Platicia?" he asked softly, trying the name out with a small nod.

"Platicia," she nodded, wincing.

More soft laughter issued from somewhere behind him. Priestly, freshly outed as Boaz, glanced down at the counter with a soft, amused chuckle. "Hmmm. Okay," he nodded to himself, rising to move around to Tish's side of the counter. Tish turned to look at him.

"Oh, there's something I should mention, ah, Platicia," he smirked, emphasizing her name as she turned to him with the same amused expression.

"What's that, Boaz?" she replied, also emphasizing his name.

"Well," he began, gesturing with his hands, "see, with women, there's never–" he caught her eyes and saw the recognition slowly filter in as he fought a smile and continued, "I mean, I–″

She pressed one finger to his lips. "Don't try it," she cut him off. In the next instant she was on her tip toes pressing her lips to his. He went dizzy with the smell of her shampoo. And then, just as quickly, she was darting past him into the back room.

Wiping his lips, he looked out at the dining room, at Piper laughing into her hand and Jen's surprised smile and he smiled a little, too, bashfully, still feeling hideously naked. Just then he realized Tish hadn't actually answered him.

"Is that a yes?" he called out after her.

"Yes, Boaz," she replied sharply, as if annoyed that he had to ask.

He noticed Trucker and Jen still watching him with faint amusement and shrugged. Glancing around at the work stations, he suddenly realized he should have brought something more sensible to actually work in. Instead of the waist apron, he rolled up his sleeves and put on a full body apron and hoped for the best. He only had a couple other dress shirts and one other pair of slacks he could change into for dinner.


	52. I'm not the Guy

_December 5, 2006_

_ Still naked. Or, naked all over again. _ Priestly stared in the men's room mirror. He was supposed to be cleaning the bathroom so they could all go home, and instead he was staring in the mirror above the single chipped sink in the grill's bathroom. Staring at the guy who was about to take Tish out to dinner. If he ever left the bathroom, that is.

Life went strangely on. Most of the regulars thought Trucker had hired someone new, and then he'd turn around and they'd do a double take and he was naked all over again. _Bus full of nuns_. Now he was going to sit, alone, across a table from her. No Trucker. No Piper. No Jen. Just…them. What the hell was he going to talk to her about?

Priestly swallowed. And how was he going to eat, exactly, when it felt like the bus full of nuns was double parked across his throat?! He sighed and shook his head. He wanted his rings back. Something he could fiddle with. Or his labret, so if the silence stretched too deep or too long, he could mess with it with his tongue.

He mopped the floor and tried to think of a few topics. They could talk about Jen and Jeff. Or Trucker and Zo, for that matter. Piper and Noah. Music? Movies? Shit. Priestly wondered how it was he'd been working with Tish for nearly nine months and suddenly felt like he knew absolutely nothing about her, had no idea what to say.

When he finished mopping, he scrubbed the sink and cleaned the mirror, then sucked it up and cleaned the two toilets and the two urinals. It was a good day. Nothing that made you walk in and go, "Jesus, who died in here!?"

Priestly was just pulling off the yellow dish gloves when someone pounded on the door. He jumped about a foot in the air.

"Hey, Renaissance Man! You almost finished in there? I'm hungry!" Tish sounded impatient but also amused.

"Yeah!" he called back. "I'll be right there!"

He couldn't stall any more. He didn't know what his problem was. This was just…Tish. But then, maybe that _was_ the problem. Priestly gave her a smile, however, as she looked up from her cell phone. Slipping it into her purse, she smirked at him.

"Way to go," she nodded. "You managed to keep clean," she teased, having listened to him grumble all day about never realizing how messy working at the grill could be.

As they stepped outside, the smell of ozone hit him full in the face. It had started raining around five and had finally stopped at just after eight. Priestly loved that smell. He filled his lungs with it as Tish took down her hair and combed through it with her fingers before putting it up again. Just as they hit the corner, a truck rumbled by and a plume of water from the gutter slapped him like a wave.

Priestly stood there in shock, just looking down at himself and then looking at Tish. She fought a smile. Watching her fight it made him realize just how utterly ridiculous the moment was. He gave in and just started laughing.

"Fuck!" he laughed.

She nodded, giggling helplessly.

"Really?" he asked, spreading his arms as their laughter finally died.

She stood studying him for a moment, clearly thinking something over. "You want to, I don't know, go to your place or my place and just order a pizza or something?"

He looked down at himself again, this time with a sigh. He shrugged. "I really wanted this to be more special than that," he said, glancing up at her before reaching down to wring out his shirt. "But by the time I change…"

"It's ok," she said, breathing a laugh as he held the shirt away from himself with a grim look. "We can do the fancy dinner next time."

"I guess," he agreed quietly. "Not much is open past ten on a Tuesday, anyway. Nothing nice."

When they reached the dumpsters behind the grill, he opened the door of his Nova for her, wishing it was something fancier. Or at least newer. And then he berated himself. Why did he keep comparing himself to a dick like Tadd, anyway? He didn't have a rich daddy and he didn't have a loud, fast sports car. But he also didn't beat up women and wasn't an all around douche. So he had to be a couple points ahead, right?

He shook his head at himself and moved around to the driver's side of the car. At first, when the engine didn't immediately start, he felt dread creeping in, but then it caught and rumbled to life. The radio, the volume knob still twisted up high, blasted out of the speakers, making both of them jump. Hastily, he turned the knob to a much more reasonable volume, unable to do anything other than grin sheepishly at her.

Leading her inside his place, which had surprised her the last time she was there, was a little surreal. Especially when he hit the light switch just inside the door and nothing happened. It was supposed to light the lamp on the little table he had by the door. Blindly, he tossed his car keys into the little bowl, knowing they hit the target by the pinging noise they made.

"It appears we have no electricity," Priestly surmised, laughing softly. What else was there to do? Laugh or completely go postal, and he doubted the latter was something any girl wanted to see on a first date. Such that it was, anyway. "How about pizza by candlelight?"

When he lit the first couple, he noticed Tish was standing by the entry table looking amused. He looked down at himself again, remembered the whole point was to change his clothes, and told her he'd be right back after he put on something dry. He considered another of his serial-killer-next-door outfits, but decided against it. That would just make him feel even more uncomfortable than he felt right now. Every single thing possible was going wrong. He hoped that wasn't some kind of hint from the universe about getting involved with Tish.

After some deliberation, he put on a pair of jeans and an old concert t-shirt. He decided to stay barefoot, and he was glad for it when he saw Tish kicking off her shoes with a guilty look.

"I hate shoes," she said. "I mean, I love them and I have a lot of cute pairs, but I'd rather be barefoot."

He shrugged. "That's cool. Get comfortable." As an afterthought, he asked, "You thirsty?"

She agreed she was and chose a beer from the list of available beverages he offered. Grabbing two, he asked,

"Bottle, or glass?"

"Bottle's fine," she answered, sitting cross legged on the futon.

He lit a couple more candles on the way back to her, particularly a large jar candle that he stuck in the bathroom. Handing her one of the beers, he got out his phone. "What do you like on your pizza?"

She shrugged. "I'm not picky. Just no anchovies."

"Hawaiian style?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"Sure."

After he called the order in, he sat in silence with her for a moment, just watching her ruffle one hand through her hair. In turn, she just watched him watch her until he started to look away out of embarrassment. They worked together every flipping day, yet he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"We need some music," he muttered, rising. Priestly searched out his iPod and brought it back to the living room, plugging a set of portable, battery operated speakers into it. He scrolled until he found his "sleep" playlist, which was softer stuff, and set it to playing softly in the background.

Tish gave him another faintly amused look. "Wow," she teased. "So you _can _listen to something that doesn't make ears bleed."

He rolled his eyes at her. "You'd be surprised," he replied honestly.

Perhaps because he just sat there looking at her, she finally sat up and leaned toward him a little.

"Let's play a game," she suggested.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and suggested hopefully, "Strip poker?"

"No," she giggled. "No," she shook her head. "It's a game called '10 Things'."

He looked at her warily. "What? Like 10 Things I Hate About You?"

She smirked in the flickering light. "Nooo," she said, tucking one foot underneath her. "Ten things you haven't told the other person about yourself yet."

"You first," he said, gesturing at her, still wary.

"Okay," she nodded. "I'll bet you didn't know I like documentaries."

"Documentaries?" he asked, admittedly surprised. "What kind?"

She shrugged. "Most all kinds. Biography documentaries, like about bands or celebrities, but I also watched a really good one about boxing and how they banned it from TV for like 10 years because of a guy getting killed in the ring. Oh, and I just saw _An Inconvenient Truth._"

His jaw dropped. "The Al Gore thing about global warming?"

She nodded, looking a little embarrassed now.

"Huh," he said to himself.

"Your turn," she ordered, looking like she regretted introducing the game.

He sighed. What to tell? He wasn't sure he wanted to get into Latimer and that junk, but other than Latimer and that junk, he was pretty much an open book around the grill. Finally, she put one foot on the floor and started tapping it at him until he laughed.

"Okay, okay. I…am an excellent baker."

She frowned at him. "Really? That's it?" She shook her head. "Besides, I already know that about you. You bake at the grill all the time."

"No," he shook his head. "I cook. That's cooking, and yeah, I'm good at that, too, but I'm talking about baking. Cakes. Cookies. Pies. Cupcakes. Brownies. Donuts," he grinned.

"Prove it. Bring something to the grill for us." Giving him a suspicious look, she corrected herself. "No. Wait. I need first hand evidence. Bake something for me."

"What do you want?" he asked, one corner of his mouth curling up.

"Secret thing number two about me…" Tish said, closing her eyes, "I loooove lemon flavored anything. Pie, cake, cookie, whatever."

"Okay. So something with lemon, check." He made an imaginary checkmark in the air with his finger. When he didn't say anything else for a minute, Tish folded her arms across her chest and sort of hummmed.

"Number two?" she prompted.

"Oh, yeah. What else?" he looked around the apartment and teased, "I don't have nudie pics all over my apartment."

Tish shook her head, objecting, "No, you can't use something previously discovered."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes. "Okay. I was scared of Santa Claus until I turned eight and realized he wasn't real, anyway."

Tish made a face at him. "Scared of Santa Claus? Why?"

"I don't know," he protested. "Big fat old guy crawling down your chimney? Huge booming laugh like he was going to eat you for dinner…" Priestly shuddered comically.

Tish giggled. "So, did you, like, scream every time you saw him at the mall?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, no," he shook his head, sweeping his hands in the air for emphasis. "No, ma'am. There was no taking Priestly to the mall at that time of year. Noooo. I think the whole reason it started was my mom took me one year and put me on this strange dude's lap and I freaked."

Tish laughed. "Wow. Well, I had an imaginary friend until I was six."

He folded his arms across his chest and waited, grinning back at her.

"Her name was Lulu," Tish added. He waited some more, until Tish asked, "What?"

"And?" he answered.

"And…she was a better playmate than my older sister."

"You have an older sister?"

"Yeah. Rowena. She's in Petaluma."

"How much older?" Priestly got up as someone knocked on the door. He accepted the pizza and paid the guy. "Keep the change," he said.

"Thanks, man. Have a nice night!" The pizza guy barely turned around before Priestly closed the door.

As they moved to the kitchen together, Tish told him, "She's thirty. By the time I was born, she was so much older she never wanted to do anything with me, so it was more like I was an only child. So, I made up a friend, I guess."

He peeked up at her from the pizza as he separated the slices. "How many?"

"Just one for now."

He took two pieces for himself, gesturing to the dining table. He didn't get to use it much. Mostly he went out to meet his friends, so he rarely had anyone over. He'd put a jar candle on it earlier, and it flickered wildly as they moved past it, displacing the air. As he sat down, Tish prompted,

"I'm at four. You're at two. Catch up."

"What?" he thought back over her 'things'.

"Documentaries, lemon cake, imaginary friend, sister. That's four." She pointed at him. "Baker that's scared of Santa Claus. That's two."

Smirking at her as she laughed at his discomfort, he sighed. After swallowing his bite of pizza, Priestly considered what else to say. "I play the piano."

"Really? Like what kind of music?"

He shrugged. "Blues, jazz, classical. Rock. Pop." He didn't add gospel. He wasn't ready to go there. She looked impressed but skeptical. He spread out his arms. "I can't prove it to you, at least not right now. But you can ask Jen tomorrow. She's heard me."

"One more," Tish prompted, taking a bite of her pizza.

Priestly thought about it. He remembered Sally's game of asking uncomfortable questions, remembered her laughing at herself about how hard it was to ask really good questions. Tish's game was the same. He had trouble thinking of things to add to the game.

"I'm pretty hopeless as an athlete," he shrugged.

"That much is obvious," Tish joked.

Priestly wondered what she meant at first and then realizing, protested, "Hey! The dude sucker punched me while I was checking on _you_…"

Tish laughed. "I know. I was teasing."

He smirked back at her, saying nothing as he chewed a bite of pizza. Once he swallowed, he emphasized, "What I _meant _was, I can't rollerblade or surf or hit a baseball or catch much of anything."

"You're a pretty good fighter, though," Tish admitted. "I saw you at the beach one morning duking it out with some blond guy."

"Mike?" Priestly replied, surprised. "When?"

She shrugged. "Couple months ago. I was jogging with my friend, Lea, and there you were."

Huh. Priestly wondered what to make of that. And, if truth be told, he was secretly pleased she'd apparently caught one of his better moments and not one where Mike dropped him effortlessly. What he said aloud was, "I'm okay, except when I forget basic rules, like 'don't take your eyes off your enemy'."

She nodded. "Good advice."

"I'm caught up now," he said. "Your turn."

Tish bent her head. "What are we at, now? Five?"

Priestly nodded, rising to move to the kitchen to get another slice. As he put one more on his plate, he pointed at the box. Tish nodded, so he put a second slice on his plate. She was still thinking when he transferred one slice to her, so he sat across from her to wait.

"I…try to avoid making left hand turns whenever I can because they scare me," Tish offered.

Priestly grinned. "So, what? Do you drive in a big box so you can go right or do you go someplace else?"

"I box," she admitted, wincing.

"I'll be doing most of the driving, then," he joked.

She shrugged. "Fine with me." When he just ate his pizza, she prompted, "You go."

"I…" He paused, trying to think of something. "I'm obsessed with checking the weather. I check it out on the internet every day before I come to work."

"Is that because of Hurricane Katrina?" Tish asked, no longer smiling and teasing.

He shook his head. "No, but how did you know about that?"

Tish wiped her mouth with her napkin. "You were off one day and Trucker mentioned it."

"Oh. Yeah." He hadn't thought about that, about the way everyone always asked about the missing person, whether it was Jen or Piper...or him.

"I can't imagine what that was like."

"It was…rough," he finished. He found himself telling her just a little about it, about how freaked out he was looking for his mother. How relieved he was when she finally called. And then he felt his face grow warm and got up to put his plate in the sink and put the leftover pizza away. Ordinarily, he could kill the better part of a pizza by himself, but he was still feeling those mutant butterflies a little.

"Bet you're glad she's here with you now," Tish said.

"Mostly," he grinned, though she was still in the dining room and couldn't see him. "Sometimes she gets in my business more than I'd like." He tried the lights just to see if they'd come on, and they did.

Suddenly behind him, Tish smiled and said, "Leave them off."

Priestly lifted his eyebrows at her but said nothing when she flicked the switch and returned his apartment to candlelight. They sank back down on the futon at the same time. With a pointed look, Tish sat closer to him than before.

"I'm addicted to home shows. Like _This Old House _and pretty much anything on HGTV," Tish admitted.

Priestly nodded enthusiastically, "Right on! I've done 18 builds for Habitat for Humanity." And then, correcting himself, he said, "No, 19. I did that one back in August with my mom and Leo."

Tish looked impressed. "I love those shows, but I'm completely incompetent. I tried to paint my room at home once, and I messed it up so bad my mom had to hire someone to fix it and then she grounded me for a month for doing it without asking."

He laughed with her over that one. It was hard for him to imagine painting a room being difficult for someone, but he supposed that was part of the exercise…see life from another perspective.

"Why are you laughing at me?" she asked, even as she giggled. "I tried really hard. I taped the corners and up by the ceiling and everything, but the paint somehow got under the tape and it looked terrible! And by the time I was off house arrest, I was so sick of my room, it wasn't even worth it anymore." She shook her head.

Priestly smirked at her as she playfully shoved him, her hand on his shoulder. This time, their brief silence was comfortable. Tish, whose hand was still on his shoulder, squeezed it and said,

"Your turn."

"I know," he replied. "I'm thinking. What are we on, anyway?" he asked, running a silent tally in his head. "Seven. You'll be at eight, but I'm at seven." He concentrated, but he couldn't think of anything. "Jesus," he moaned, "this game is friggin' impossible!"

Tish nodded. "When someone first suggests it, you're like, no problem, 10 things, that's so easy. Not!" He nodded. Then he winced when Tish added, "You're not off the hook, buster."

"Alright, alright," he sighed. "When I was 8, the kids at my school were daring each other to eat a whole pack of Pop Rocks and drink a whole can of Coke. I did it, and then my stomach hurt so bad from all the gas I thought it really did explode, and I ran crying to the nurse about how my stomach exploded and I was going to die."

Tish laughed so hard at that one she could barely find the air to tell him her next thing. "In high school, I went to prom all four years. In my sophomore year, I made my dress out of those mesh bath sponges that come in all the wild colors. The prom theme was 'Tropical Paradise', and there was a scholarship contest around it. I lost to a girl who made her dress out of pop can tabs." Tish rolled her eyes. "Totally unoriginal, and she looked like she was trying to be a knight of the round table or something."

"I need photographic evidence of that dress," Priestly smirked.

"I'll bring a picture to work tomorrow."

He sighed deeply. "I don't suppose I could whip up a lemon cake for you in exchange for calling this 10 things thing early?"

She shook her head. "It's just getting interesting," she teased.

Resigning himself to finishing, he said, "This is going to sound a little New Age-y, but I look at the clock at 11:11 like all the time. I can't get away from it. It used to freak me out."

"You should ask Zo what it means," Tish suggested.

"I did, actually. She said 11:11 is a wakeup call. I'm supposed to pay close attention to whatever I was just thinking right as I noticed the 11:11."

"So…what kind of things have you noticed yourself thinking about?"

Priestly shrugged. "A lot of different things, actually. It's different every time. But it's usually something important. Like when I was looking for my mom before the hurricane, I saw it in the morning and at night."

Tish cocked her head at him. "That really is sort of New Age-y. Are you into all that stuff?"

Priestly shrugged. "Some of it is interesting. I don't know how much of it I believe, but there is definitely some weirdness about 11:11."

"For my 21st birthday my friends took me to this New Age bookstore where they have different psychics every weekend. They paid for a reading." Tish said.

"And?"

"And she told me stuff about my past that I hadn't told either of the friends who were with me. It was like she was trying to prove she was for real. And then she told me some stuff about my future and some of it has come true."

"Like what?" he asked curiously.

"She said I would total my first car, but I would escape unharmed, and I did. I had an ancient Datsun, and of course, it didn't take much to total the stupid thing. She also said I would drop out of college twice before finishing my degree, so who knows about that. So far I haven't even dropped out once. But she said I'd win the lottery, and I did…except she didn't say it'd be the fourth prize and I'd only win $200."

Priestly chuckled. "Bummer."

Tish's mouth curved. "You…"

Somewhere along the line, Tish had stretched out on the futon with her feet in his lap. Priestly started massaging one of them absently, and now she arched her foot in his hand. "I'm good at foot massages," he joked.

She sighed in agreement. "You are. So much so that I'm not going to disallow that one for being something I already knew."

"Oh, well, thanks," he teased her, rubbing the arch of her foot a little harder. After another second or two, though, she pulled her foot back and sat up.

"I might fall asleep if you keep that up."

"Number ten?" Priestly asked, surprised that after all his complaining, they each had only one more to go.

"Number ten…" Tish sat up straighter, biting her bottom lip. His eyes were drawn to that, and his body responded to it a little. "Number ten…" she said again. With a wicked smile, she seemed to notice what her lip biting was doing to him. "Number ten is that I like your new look." She reached out and stroked his face, which had been smoothly shaven that morning but was just starting to get a little rough. Then she pressed her lips against his.

Priestly experienced two things simultaneously. First, he felt a flush of heat from her kiss. The lady had lips and a tongue and knew how to use both. Secondly, his heart fell a little at her words of approval. He'd wanted to shock her, to get her attention. He hadn't wanted her to prefer the serial-killer-next-door look to his every day look.

He lost the ability to think for a few moments as she slid onto his lap, her knees framing his hips. _Jesus. Oh, Jesus_. Priestly let his hands slide up over her behind, up the center of her spine and then down to her waist as her mouth continued to devour his, nipping gently, working with soundless, delicious wet heat against his own. He noticed the slight lingering taste of pineapple and ham which should have been gross but wasn't.

He could too easily have lost himself completely in it. Given that he was fully male and fucking all too human, he nearly did just that. But just as she sat back a little and reached for her blouse, he gently lifted her off his lap, panting, with his all-too-evident arousal plainly in view. He licked his lips, gasping, "Number ten…I'm not just any other guy you've been with. And to prove it," he rasped, "we're going to end the night here."

She blinked at him, dazed and also breathing heavily. She looked so dumbfounded he almost laughed, but he didn't want her to think he was making fun of her when making fun of her was the last thing on his mind.

Kissing her once more, gently, he cupped the back of her neck, rested his forehead against hers, closed his eyes for courage, and said softly, "I had a great time tonight, Tish, even though things fell the fuck apart on us. I'm still going to take you to that fancy dinner. And probably some sappy ass movie that'll make you cry. Walk on the beach. Sleep in bed with you without laying a hand on you. Because I'm not those guys."

When he lifted his head, her eyes were full of tears.


	53. Let Me be Myself

_December 23, 2006_

As the holiday season wore on, Priestly kept his word. His second date with Tish was at an upscale seafood restaurant perched partly over the water. The dress she wore for the occasion was longer and more modest than others he'd seen her wear. He found that even sexier than her normal clothes and told her so. As for himself, he forced himself not to tug at the cuffs and collar of the button down he wore, thankful that the place wasn't so upscale it required a tie.

The funny thing was, the more he insisted on showing her he wasn't just any guy she'd dated, the more determined she seemed to conquer him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it worried him. Consciously, however, he just enjoyed her attempts at seduction and then struggled hard to put the brakes on before things went too far. And sometimes, those brakes were really, really hard to apply. He did everything he'd told her he would do: the fancy dinner, the sappy movie, more than one walk on the beach, and most recently, two nights earlier, he slept next to her in his bed without laying a hand on her.

That last one had nearly required medical intervention, given that they were both so sexually charged from Tish's latest attempt to defeat him. He was true to his word, however. He kissed her deeply, his hands all over her, and then he flopped on the bed next to her with a rakish grin. She'd tried to engage him, but he just laughed, rolled away from her on his side, and joked,

"Not tonight, honey. I have a headache."

Sighing heavily, she'd said, "Fine. You won't lay a hand on me, but I didn't make the same promise." With that, she'd spooned him from behind. Luckily for him, he supposed, she fell quickly asleep. He, on the other hand, thought he was going to need half a bottle of sleeping pills in order to do the same. Finally, however, he dozed off and, surprisingly, slept without waking until the alarm went off. He fully intended to give in and let her ravage him sometime soon now that his promises had been kept.

He was pretty sure she was losing her patience with him, but he wasn't sure whether she understood his reasons for waiting were not just about her, about showing her he was different. It was also about asking _her_ to show _him_ he wasn't just another random guy she planned to have a good night or two with before moving on to the next random guy.

If there was anything darkening his mood, it was the issue of his appearance. Tish made it clear at every turn that she preferred the serial killer look, a point she kept reinforcing. When they were out, she'd window shop for him, pointing at various things she'd like to "see him in". It was all the preppy, weekend-on-the-sailboat crap he hated. She'd finally accepted that he wasn't going to dress nice at the grill. She understood it, or at least he thought she did. It was messy work, and it had taken a miracle for him to stay clean the day she'd accepted his invitation to dinner. So she put up with the snarky t-shirts and the pants or shorts with the wallet chain when he was at the grill. Whenever they went out after work, however, she asked if he needed to go home and change, which he took as her way of saying she_ wanted_ him to go home and change.

He didn't really get it, actually. Tadd wore jeans and t-shirts, but when Priestly wore something similar, Tish would look at him and roll her eyes a little. Truthfully, it probably wasn't the jeans. It was probably the slogan shirts. She didn't complain or give him looks when he wore concert shirts. It was really just the others. Unfortunately, he still had more of the stuff she hated than stuff she approved of. He was starting to get irritated.

And forget trying to reintroduce a Mohawk. Hell, no. She gave him such a dismayed look that he felt a little hurt, actually. Was he really so unattractive to her like that? And forget about facial hair, too. The moment he got a little stubbly, she told him to "go shave", claiming it irritated her skin. That much was actually true. He'd spent enough time kissing her to see the results of that. She quickly showed burns if he was more than just the barest hint at stubbly. She flat out threw away his eyeliner, and she rolled her eyes when she'd caught him considering his labret one evening.

He probably would have stubbornly insisted on reverting completely to his preferred appearance, actually, if it hadn't been for the insight he'd gained the previous Monday when he happened to meet her mother. It certainly hadn't been something Tish had arranged. Her shock that afternoon when they were hanging around her apartment and someone knocked on the door made it obvious she hadn't planned for her mother to be on the other side of it.

"Mom!" Tish's surprised face was almost comical, given that she'd just been doing her damnedest to open his fly.

Priestly, still breathing a bit heavily on the couch, grabbed a throw pillow for his lap as Tish stepped aside to let her in. Tish glanced at him with a knowing smirk. He felt his face grow a little hot.

"Oh, hello," her mother smiled charmingly at him before giving Tish a curious look. Then she looked back at him and announced, "I'm Tish's mom, Mona Madison."

He nodded at her, unable to stand up like his manners said he should. "Priestly," he said, gently clasping the bejeweled hand she offered. The woman had serious rocks on both hands. An older version of Tish but with slightly darker skin and a few more lines, Mona was aging well. Perhaps with help or perhaps merely good genes. She showed no sign of gray hair, what lines she had were very, very fine, and her figure was like her daughter's.

Mona handed Tish an envelope. "These are the certificates I was telling you about. I can't use them, so I thought you'd enjoy some pampering."

"Thanks, Mom," Tish smiled.

"Honey," Mona said, grabbing Tish's head with both hands. She proceeded to fluff her daughter's hair. "Are you using that shampoo I got you? Because your hair's still looking dull."

Tish looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, Mom, I am."

"And what are you wearing? You look like you're still in your pajamas. Go get dressed, honey, you have a guest."

Tish was wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. Priestly thought she looked fine. More than fine. The throw pillow was hiding the still fading evidence of how fine he thought she looked, in fact.

Priestly pretended to be absorbed in the show on TV, which happened to be some garden show. Another time he might actually have been interested in it, but right now he could only listen to Mona nitpick over every aspect of her daughter's appearance, from hair to clothes to the very slightly chipped nail polish.

"I'm planning to fix it tonight, Mom," Tish rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the certificates. Priestly and me are going to be late for our movie," she said, grabbing the TV remote and flipping the set off. They actually _were_ planning to go to the movies, but not for another half hour.

"Priestly and I, darling," Mona corrected over her shoulder. "Take his name out of the sentence, change the verb to the singular, and you'll realize it's incorrect."

Tish sighed heavily as Priestly wondered if her mother was an English teacher. She seemed too….flashy for that. But then, he was going by what his teachers in Latimer looked like. He'd long ago learned that in California, people had whole different standards for appearance regardless of age, occupation, income, or anything else.

When Tish closed the door behind her mother, Priestly saw defeat in her posture. She quickly covered it up, or tried to, by returning to her spot beside him on her roommate's lumpy old sofa. He allowed her the distraction, stopping her only when she tried for his fly again. They really _did _have a movie to get to, it just hadn't been as urgent as Tish led her mother to believe.

And then there was now. Priestly was just putting the icing on his Christmas gift to her: a lemon cake with a light layer of lemon cream cheese frosting. Tish would be arriving at his place sometime in the next hour. They were going to go the boardwalk to catch the Santa Cruz Holiday Lights Train, which would take them through Victorian Santa Cruz to check out the holiday displays. After that, they'd probably come back to his place and exchange their gifts. Tish had actually been the one to insist upon homemade gifts only, which surprised him. She didn't strike him as the crafty type.

He was just putting on a clean shirt, having gotten frosting on the one he was wearing, when he heard her knock. Tugging the plain blue v-neck pullover down, he opened the door. Tish smiled at him.

"You look sexy," she purred at him, going up on tip toe to kiss him. Her words dug at him a little. He sighed inwardly, knowing he was going to have to learn to live with it and let it go or else have their first argument over it.

_Remember her mother, _he told himself. Mona Madison was all about appearance, and she'd convinced at least one of her daughters to be all about it, too.

Priestly just smiled at her and scooped his keys out of the little bowl by the door. "Ready?"

"Sure. Let me just put this down, though," she said, putting a small gift-wrapped box on his dining room table. He cocked an eyebrow at it. "Don't worry," she said, "I stuck to the plan. It's home made."

He looked at it dubiously.

"Well, the box and the wrapping aren't," she laughed at his face. "I'm not talented enough to wrap anything, so I went to a store and had them wrap it for me."

He smirked at her, guiding her out the door with his hand gently at the small of her back. As always, he opened the door of the Nova for her, closing her inside before making his way around the car. They drove the short distance to the boardwalk in easy silence, the radio tuned to metal but turned down low. When he finally found a parking spot nearby, they walked to the pickup area for the train, watching kids run around hyped up on too much sugar.

The ride itself was fun but chilly. The train cars were open air, so Priestly and Tish cuddled together in the car which was adorned with holiday lights. She teased him, of course, about the fact that they were sure to run into Santa Claus along the way. Would he be ok, or did she need to protect him?

He smirked at her. "I was eight, Tish, give me a break."

She just laughed and snuggled deeper into his warmth.

There were tons of families with kids, but now that he wasn't wearing the Mohawks and crazy shirts, he wasn't getting the same sort of distrusting stares as he would have before. Priestly wasn't sure exactly why Tish had wanted to go on the ride at all, other than the fact that it was the holidays and the whole thing was all about the holidays. He didn't mind, really, it was just another surprise to him…not something he would expect Tish to be interested in.

It was that fact that had him questioning himself. Who was he to assume who she was and what she was into? He realized with not a little guilt that he was doing the very thing he made a point of fighting: judging someone. He was assuming things about what Tish would be interested in based not on her looks exactly, but on her behavior. And more than that, he was guilty of "approval issues" of his own. Hadn't he told her he thought she looked sexier in the more modest dress? Wasn't that the same thing as Tish finding him sexier as Banana Republic man?

Priestly sighed heavily, grinning at Tish when she gave him a questioning look. But then he went right back to his thoughts. She was flirty and sexy and, yeah, she was the scorpion queen. Or she had been, anyway. So he was wrongfully assuming things about what she would and wouldn't want to do and what she'd be interested in based on nothing more than her…dating history.

Priestly frowned as he thought about these things even while holding her firmly against him. She looked up at him, her face flushed from the cold, and she elbowed him a little when she realized he wasn't singing along to the Christmas carols the other passengers were singing. He joined her in between sips of the hot spiced cider they'd passed out earlier. She looked…happy. And he felt like an even bigger ass as her face made it clear once again that he'd been making baseless assumptions. It was time to put that shit aside and just forget about what came before and focus on Tish right here, right now. Just take her at face value until or unless she gave him a reason not to.

* * *

_December 23, 2006_

"That was fun," Tish smiled drowsily as they made their way up his stairs. She was warm and relaxed from the train ride and the hot cider.

The first half of the train ride was rowdy and raucous, full of chatter and caroling and lots of ooohing and aaahing. The return ride was relaxed and…sleepy. The kids in their car wore out and just sort of slumped against their parents, awake but content to just watch everything go by with droopy eyes. By the time they reached the beach station again, many were out cold against their parents.

Priestly grinned at her. "You up for the gift exchange, or do you want to wait? We could always meet up tomorrow or Christmas for a little while. I mean, I know you're meeting up with your family, but–"

She shut him up with a kiss, sliding her hands around his waist under his army jacket. She smelled good and tasted like cider and cinnamon. He plundered her mouth, savoring the taste of her and the cider, inhaling the sweet smell of her skin. He wasn't sure whether it was soap or perfume, but it was a vanilla-y, flowery smell and it made him half crazy every time he got close.

Tish made a little satisfied sound, curling her hand around the back of his neck as he drew her closer. He heard the rumble of his own voice letting out an involuntary sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. She tugged at his army jacket, and he obligingly shrugged it off, not caring where it fell. She danced him backward, easing out of her own jacket. He stumbled a little as she continued moving backward, taking off her shoes so that he tripped on them, catching himself before taking them both down.

She pulled back long enough to draw a breath. "Tell me you're not going to stop me again tonight," she gasped against his throat as they both gathered air with the intent of going back under.

"Mmmm," he answered noncommittally, using her hips to pull her closer to him so that she let out a little sound as she felt his arousal.

The gift exchange postponed again, he let her tug him toward his bedroom as their mouths met again as if magnetized. He remembered the way the wind whooshed around them in the open air train car, and he felt like he was back there with her from the airy whoosh of their breath as it grew quicker and more ragged. They hit the bed blindly, or she did. They tumbled backward. Her cry was sharp as he jolted against her, hard against soft.

"Too many clothes," she gasped, tugging at his pullover until she pulled it right off. He found the hollow at her neck as she pushed him onto his back and sat up to let him slide her blouse up and over her head.

Heat. That was what stood out. Heat and breathlessness. Everywhere he touched she was on fire, burning under his fingers. Tiny bits of lacy fabric tossed aside, he tucked her beneath him again and tried to cool the burn of her with his mouth, her voice mingling with their panting breaths and his own voice sounding foreign to him. Wordlessly, her voice urged him on, her body undulating beneath him, rising and falling like a boat on the ocean.

He lost himself in the disorienting swirl of sight and sound, skin and heat. Searing dampness. Vanilla flowers. Her heels digging, her fingernails like tattoo needles. Her breathless sounds as he took her over the edge before teetering on the precipice, himself. Her satisfaction took him over.

* * *

_January 1, 2007_

Santa Cruz in January was generally cold, often reaching only 60 or 65 degrees. But on this New Year's fate seemed to be smiling down on Trucker and Zo. It was around 70 degrees, which was some kind of record considering it was sunset in January. Still, Priestly watched them approach, stark naked and on horseback, and even fully dressed he felt a little cool as the breeze swept in from the ocean.

Priestly stood beside Tish, with Piper, Noah, and Julia to their left. Just past them, Leo stood with an arm around his mother. Jen and Fuzzzy (he still had trouble remembering to think of the guy as Jeff) to their right. Just past Jen and Jeff were Lucille and Mr. Julius. And Bam Bam. He watched Trucker and Zo approach. If it was a little weird to see the guy who'd been like a father to him riding a horse in his birthday suit, well, it was what it was. He was grateful the horse's head covered his view of everything important. The same was true of Zo. But he wouldn't have missed this moment for the world, slight discomfort or not.

Priestly glanced over at Julia as she protested Noah's hand over her eyes,

"Dad!"

He felt for the guy, but he smirked a little at the _Oh, Dear Lord! _expression on the guy's face, hoping his own face wasn't that obvious. Trucker and Zo halted their mounts, Zo's hair blowing across her face in the breeze. Priestly looked away from her in case her hair was about to blow away from anything else. He felt Tish's elbow nudge him softly in the gut. When he glanced at her, her expression was one of thorough amusement. She found his situational modesty very funny, often razzing him about it. He could trade innuendos with the best of them, but at the end of the day, when it came to the actual actions, especially in public, he was a private sort of guy. There. He admitted it.

Trucker's voice cut into his wandering thoughts.

"We ask you here today," he said as Priestly heard Piper telling Noah it was okay, gently lifting Noah's hand from Julia's eyes, "in this most sacred and beautiful of places to witness our dedication to each other."

Priestly glanced down at Tish, sensing she'd turned her face up toward his to see how he was handling things so far. He gave her a smile.

"We start our new lives as we started the last," Zo added. "Naked. And needy. Dependent on those we love," she said, turning to look at Trucker, "to care for us."

Tish gave him another smirk, so he said the first random thing that came to his mind.

"Hell, yeah!" Priestly shouted over the wind, clapping. The others joined him.

"Congratulations!" Jen called over the wind.

"Rock on, man!" Priestly encouraged as Zo and Trucker nudged the horses close enough, he assumed, so that they could kiss once they finished the brief promises they made one another.

He had the right idea but the wrong ending. After a few more words to close their makeshift ceremony, instead of another kiss to seal the deal, Zo switched horses in a startlingly graceful move, symbolizing their becoming one. Clutching Trucker, she laughed into the wind and admitted she was freezing and wanted to put her clothes back on. Everyone laughed. Priestly smirked down at Tish, lifting an eyebrow at her.

They moved the party to Trucker's place, to his favorite room which spilled out onto the back deck. Somehow, a sort of impromptu reception line formed, with Lucille and Mr. Julius being the first to congratulate the newly dedicated couple. It was like a wedding without the wedding, which he knew wasn't exactly what Trucker and Zo intended. Still, they were gracious and accepting of the situation.

"Congrats, man," Priestly said as Trucker pulled him in for a hug. Everyone else was already milling around the deck or in the yard. Priestly eyed Tish talking to Jen and Jeff.

"Thanks," Trucker said, releasing him.

"Zo," Priestly said as she took her turn, embracing him.

She looked at him carefully. "I wish you nothing but peace and happiness," she told him.

Priestly grinned. "That's my line," he joked.

Still just looking at him in the unnerving way she had that always made him feel like she was staring at his naked soul, Zo took his hands in both of hers and squeezed them. "You've made some changes," she said softly, studying his face as she'd done many times before recently. He glanced past her at Tish, who was laughing at something Piper was saying. When he met Zo's eyes they were gentle as always, but he felt like her words accused him of something. He shrugged.

"I guess. It's just superficial, right?"

Zo smiled and nodded. "Just don't lose sight of yourself, Priestly," she urged. "Be true to yourself. You've come a long, hard way to get here. You've earned the right to be your authentic self."

He nodded as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He glanced at Tish again, still absorbed in her conversation. He tugged at his collar, suddenly finding it snug.

* * *

_**A/N: Ok. So a tiny departure from canon by adding in Leo and Priestly's mom at the dedication ceremony. I thought about writing them off somewhere traveling but that would NOT work. Leo's like a dad to Trucker (even though he isn't technically old enough to BE his dad, unless he started VERY early...) so having him go out of town or something ...nope. Couldn't do it. If there are any purists out there, I apologize. I had to take a liberty! **_


	54. I Won't Back Down

_January 18, 2007_

Priestly glanced over at the register desk where a yuppie throwback was chatting up Tish. Jen and Piper threw nervous looks in his direction as Tish turned on the charm as she cashed the dude out. Priestly rolled his eyes as Tish giggled appreciatively at something the guy said, leaning forward across the desk. Priestly just shook his head and flipped the chicken breasts he was grilling for the Maui Jim specials that day.

Jen gave him another look as Piper tucked two order slips under the rail. Priestly smirked at her and chopped up the nearly finished chicken breasts with the side of the spatula, dropping two rolls on the grill face down, still listening to Tish bantering with the yuppie as she took the signed credit slip from him.

"I'm sorry, I can't," Tish said apologetically.

"Tomorrow night, then," the yuppie countered.

"Sorry," Tish shook her head.

"C'mon, you'll have a great time," the guy coaxed.

"Can't," Tish answered, sticking his signed credit slip on the little spindle holder on the shelf under the register.

"Why not?"

"I'm seeing someone." She shook her head, still apologetic and flirty in tone.

"So stop seeing him," the guy replied.

"I can't," Tish said with a giggle. Priestly just dumped the pieces of the two different chicken breasts into two different containers and dumped teriyaki sauce in one and the jerk marinade in the other. Closing them both, he vigorously shook one in each hand.

"You ever change your mind…" the guy handed her a business card from a fancy gold tone case. "We'd have a great time."

Tish made a show of tucking the card into her bra with a smile. It was all Priestly could do not to laugh. When they guy was safely out the door, he tipped his head at Tish with a grin and asked,

"How much?"

"Thirtyyyyy…" Tish closed one eye, still calculating in her head, "Thirty-four percent," she crowed.

Priestly high-fived her as she passed. "Yeah, baby!"

Jen and Piper watched their exchange with some amusement. Piper's jaw dropped as she caught on. "You guys are setting the dudes up?!"

Priestly shrugged. "It's like Tish always says. If guys are that easy to manipulate, they deserve what they get. If they want to tip her big to see if they can get her to go out with them, who am I to argue as long as she doesn't actually accept?" He waited a beat before adding, "We all benefit from the nice tips from the droolers. They can look all they want. They just better not touch."

Tish smirked at him as Jen laughed.

"Don't you feel like that's unfair, though?" Jen asked him.

Priestly considered the question as he plopped the two freshly toasted sub rolls onto two wrappers and carefully began assembling each sandwich. "What's unfair about it? Nobody's shaking them down. I like the nice, fat tips but I'm not holding anybody up to get them. They're paying what they want to pay. I don't care whether they base their tip on the food, the ambience or Tish's rack."

Tish laughed. "Oh, thank you."

"No, Tish," Priestly said, finishing the assembly of one Maui Jim and one Maui Jim Jerk, "thank _you._" He gave her a big, cheesy grin as he rolled the subs into their wrappers.

She just giggled some more with Piper and Jen joining in, taking the subs from him.

* * *

_February 5, 2007_

"Oh, my God," Tish panted, threading her fingers in his as Priestly settled on his back beside her. She glanced over at him and smiled, sexy and sweaty and still breathing heavily.

He grinned back at her and lifted their joined hands to kiss the back of hers softly. "Just a little something to show you how much I care," he breathed, his heart still thumping quickly in his chest.

"It worked," she laughed breathlessly. But then, suspiciously, she lifted her head to look at him more closely. "You didn't get me a present again, did you?"

He dropped her hand, irritation sizzling through him and ruining his afterglow. "No," he shot back, glancing away from her, "I told you I was sorry about that."

The very fact that she thought he should be sorry at all bothered him. Last month on January 5th, he'd given her a sterling silver necklace with a little silver and yellow enameled charm in the shape of a lemon. He'd taken her to his place after work where he'd made her a dinner of lemon herb chicken with a creamy risotto and roasted vegetables and a dessert of lemon mousse. And instead of it being an excellent night, it had turned just as sour as a lemon after dinner when she'd insisted on helping him wash the dishes.

"You're not going to celebrate every month we're together, are you?" she asked with a smirk.

"No," he'd told her honestly with a shrug, though he was a little annoyed by the inflection in her voice that basically felt like she was calling him a loser dork for wanting to mark their first month together.

"Good," she'd said with such obvious relief that he felt even more irritated.

"Why? What's the big deal?" he asked.

"It's just a little...clingy. You know, to celebrate every month. It sort of sends the message that you're relieved we're still together."

He paused in his washing as she put the glass he'd handed her in the little drying rack beside the sink. "Well, is it so surprising that I _am _glad we're still together?"

She looked up at him, slack mouthed and her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Uh-oh. Priestly shrugged. No sense trying to back out of that one. Instead he admitted, "Well, can you blame me? I watched you go through guys like changes of clothing…a new one every day. You lasted, what, two weeks with Tadd, and that was the longest I ever saw you with anyone."

Yeah. It was probably number one on the list of top ten stupidest things he'd ever said to _anyone_ let alone a woman. Fuck. It was a good thing he'd paused in the dishwashing because if she'd been holding anything, he was pretty sure she'd have slammed it down or thrown it.

"Wow," she said, stepping back and tossing down the dish towel she'd been lightly drying the items with. "You really still see me as just the slut at the grill, don't you?"

"Tish," he said, sighing down at the sudsy water, "c'mon, that's not what I meant. I just meant–″

"You just meant you're amazed I haven't left you to go sleep with someone else already."

Fuck. Was that really how it came across? He thought about what he had said and realized that, yeah, that's exactly how it _would_ come across…even though it genuinely wasn't what he meant to say. He pulled his hands out of the water and wiped them on another clean dishtowel before reaching for her. She took a step backward.

"I think I'd like you to take me home now," she said, not looking at him.

"Tish," he said softly, reaching for her again. "Tish, what I meant was I'm glad you've let me show you that there's more to you than just what's visible to the eye."

"Well, somehow, Priestly, that's not how I heard it." She still wouldn't look at him.

"Tish," he tried again, muttering an oath when she just turned on her heel and called over her shoulder,

"I'll be in the car…"

It had taken her a few days to come around and accept his apology. Now Tish fumbled for his hand in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. It was just after sundown, and the room around them had turned the funky filmy blue that said they should turn on a light soon or be plunged into total darkness.

"Hey," she said softly, turning toward him. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I was kidding."

_No you weren't, _he thought. But he let her lace their fingers back together again.

"I like your hair like this," she said, changing the subject. She ran her fingers through his freshly cut hair which he just left in a messy tousle and spiked on the ends with blue Manic Panic. "It brings out the green in your eyes."

"You're not mad about the color?"

"No," she replied, her voice puzzled. "Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know," he said, wishing he hadn't said anything. "Because you can't stand the Mohawks, I guess."

"This isn't a Mohawk. And it isn't that I can't stand the Mohawks, it's that I think you're so much sexier like this." She kissed him, but he was back to feeling cold inside, the way he always felt when she implied she liked Banana Republic man better.

She liked Boaz better, and he was torn between wanting to just give in and continue on with the serial-killer-next-door thing to keep the peace and wanting to bring back everything he missed…the labret, the rings, his muttons, the combat boots, the wallet chain, the punk pants. _Him. _Priestly. It was, Tish pointed out, just wrapping paper, right? So why did it bother him so much to dress nice when they went out to dinner or a movie? She'd asked him that, tired of watching him tug at his collars and cuffs.

"Yeah," he'd agreed, "it's just wrapping paper. But it's my favorite wrapping paper, and I like it and I miss it."

"How can you miss it? You wear it every day to the grill."

He couldn't argue with that. "I just wish you didn't have such a problem with it," he grumbled.

"I don't have a problem with it," Tish said.

"Then why am I wearing this junk?" he asked, tugging at his collar as they waited to be seated at a steak house. Admittedly, he'd stick out like a sore thumb if he'd worn jeans and a t-shirt amidst the polo shirt and slacks crowd that made up half the clientele.

"It won't kill you to dress like a grown up once in a while," she shot back. He'd tried not to let that remark ruin the rest of the night, but it stung. Really? After everything they'd been through together, she still saw him as some immature punk kid and not as an adult? Seriously?

"Hey," Tish said, nudging him again.

Priestly turned to look at her. Despite his thoughts, he felt his body react to the sight of her naked right next to him. He was still somehow surprised by the fact that she'd ever accepted that first date. Or maybe it wasn't surprise so much as deep, deep gratitude. She noticed his reaction to her and shifted so that she was lying on top of him.

"You're so quiet," she said. "What's going on in there?" She put her index finger between his eyes and scratched gently, lowering her mouth to his, not really asking for or expecting an answer. Or maybe she didn't want one, didn't really want to know.

Languidly, he kissed her, already knowing more about how she liked to be touched and how to turn her on than he would ever have thought possible. And yet sometimes he felt like she didn't know him at all…or that if she knew, she just didn't care.

As her breath quickened, his hands working over her hot skin in ways that made her shudder against him, Priestly thought again about her many insecurities. She hated her thighs and her behind, for example. The tiny bit of cellulite she had in both areas mortified her. She was always trying the latest fad _thing_ to get rid of it. It didn't matter how many times he smoothed his hands over both areas, all but purring in delight. It didn't matter that he could run his hands and tongue over her thighs all day in perfect contentment, completely oblivious to what she thought was some glaring defect. All she saw was failure and imperfection.

He smoothed over those thighs now, brushing there as he listened to the sounds of her pleasure and wandered over and across many of her lower erogenous zones: just inside each hip bone, the insides and back sides of her knees, back up to the delicate place where her inner thighs ended. Her breathless cries rang in his ears as he grabbed the luscious flesh of her bottom, the other area she was always so ashamed of, and teased her by dragging his tongue over her lower belly.

He drove her higher and higher, thinking of how she always had her mother's voice in her head nitpicking at imaginary faults until they became absolutely real faults in Tish's mind. He loved the sound of her voice begging him for the things she knew he could do to her, for her. He just wished she could let go and if not love him as he was, because they weren't at love yet, he didn't think, but appreciate him for who he was.

As he rose up over her, blanketing her body with his at her breathless urging, Priestly hoped that with more time, if he could show her he liked her just the way she was, maybe, just maybe, she'd come to feel the same way about herself. And also about him.

* * *

_February 12, 2007_

It was sunrise on the beach. Priestly yawned as he jogged down the beach toward the distant figure he knew was Mike. It was too early for this shit, but Mike had called asking if he could spare some time to spar, apologetically explaining he had an interview for a new job and wanted to blow off some steam. Priestly hadn't realized how long it had been since he'd last seen Mike until he saw the surprise on Mike's face as he saw Priestly approaching him. It was almost comical.

"Whoa, man! What's with the makeover? You joining the corporate world, or what?"

"Nah," Priestly shook his head, putting his hands in the gloves Mike held out one at a time. He didn't offer anything else, so of course, Mike kept pestering him.

"What, then? Found Jesus? Decided God doesn't like metal and Mohawks?"

Priestly stopped short, pausing in his stretching as Mike put on his own gloves. "Seriously, dude? You want to talk about this now?"

Mike shrugged and stood straighter. "I'm just surprised, Priestly. I mean you're…" Mike gestured up and down at him, shaking his head. "You're…pretty," he joked, grinning.

Priestly felt a jolt of irritation. Why couldn't everyone just leave his appearance alone? But then, if he hadn't changed it to get Tish's attention, he wouldn't have to put up with shit like Mike was now giving him. Deciding a non reaction would have more weight than the fucking psycho meltdown he felt like he'd rather have over it, Priestly joked mildly, "Sorry, man, you're not my type." Giving Mike a cheesy ass grin, he batted his eyelashes at him and assumed a fighting stance.

"Well," Mike laughed, "at least your personality hasn't changed." And with that, Mike struck the first physical blow, catching Priestly in the chin before he could dart away.

Now he squinted at Mike in the rising sun and complained, "Dude, I can't see a damn thing. Turn so we're facing north and south."

Mike jabbed at him, taking advantage of the fact that the sun was blinding him, but Priestly managed to see it and dodged just in time. "Well," Mike said, turning so that he was facing north, "if it isn't for work and it isn't for God, it must be for a girl."

Priestly hit him hard, squarely across the jaw, dumping him to the sand. He wasn't quite fast enough to avoid Mike's foot at his ankle, hooking him so that he dropped to the sand almost on top of the guy.

"Good one," Priestly admitted as Mike stayed where he was, panting up into the morning so that his breath clouded a little in the moist morning air. A cold front was in from Canada and it was cooler than normal.

"So, who's the girl?" Mike asked.

Priestly gave him a look. "Tish," he said finally. "She works at the grill."

Mike nodded and got to his feet. Priestly followed as Mike asked, "She worth it?"

"What do you mean, worth it?" Priestly asked, his eyes narrowing.

Mike shrugged. "Is she worth the makeover? All these changes?"

Priestly just looked at him for so long that Mike relented apologetically, holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to piss you off. It's just I can't help wondering if you've gone all prep school on the outside, what else is she asking you to change about yourself?"

Priestly felt chilled by his words. Prep school? One of the same labels he used, himself, besides serial-killer-next-door and Banana Republic man. _And Boaz, _he thought sarcastically._ Don't forget Boaz._ Priestly didn't answer him, but he didn't forget the question or what every potential answer implied.

They moved on to safer topics, making plans to catch a newly released action movie over the weekend. Priestly, still having a good day despite Mike's questions, managed to dump him two more times over the next fifteen minutes while only getting dumped once in return. When Priestly dropped him a fourth time, Mike conceded the victory with an apology about having to get cleaned up for his job interview.

"Something corporate?" Priestly asked with a smirk.

Mike nodded. "Something corporate," he agreed. "Starting salary is fifty-five g's, though, so I'm really hoping I get it. That's amazing for entry level."

Priestly's eyebrows rose. Jesus. He knew Mike made about thirty currently working two jobs. "You nervous?"

"Fuck yeah," Mike laughed. "Why do you think I begged you to come out? I needed to blow off some serious jitters."

Priestly grinned. "What's the job? I mean, what exactly would you be doing?"

Mike explained about the company, an ecological consulting firm that worked in the pre-development side with manufacturing companies and construction companies interested in green operations. It was a good use for his major in environmental science. "Yeah, we had a huge semester project last year at UC, sort of like a high school science fair on steroids. We had to create an environmentally friendly business plan…" Mike went on, energetically describing his project and how UC opened their exposition, as it was called, to industry leaders. "They invited me to apply. They seemed really impressed by my project."

Priestly grinned again. "I had no idea you were into all that. That's awesome. Good luck, man," he said, clapping Mike's shoulder as they parted ways in the parking lot.

"Thanks. I'll call you Saturday about the movie," Mike said.

Priestly nodded. "Knock them on their asses!" he called out at Mike's back, watching him until he got into his car. Unfortunately, the distraction of Mike's talk about his job interview was just as temporary as that moment.

Priestly turned and headed for his own car, which he had affectionately named Gossamer, after the big orange monster from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. Nobody ever got the reference, just like nobody ever got him. Not at first, anyway. He thought about Mike's words. Mike's easy going laughter didn't take the sting out of his accusation, though. Was he changing who he was for Tish? The tension between them over his appearance bothered him. But now Priestly wondered about the total loss of self Mike's question implied. _What else is she asking you to change about yourself? _Worse, he didn't need Mike to actually ask the next question in the lineup because he'd already jumped to it on his own: _What else _will _she ask you to change about yourself?_

Priestly looked at the menacing bank of storm clouds moving in overhead, about an hour shy of taking out the sun, which still shone bravely. He wondered abstractly if the sun would be scared by that thick dark wall coming its way. He suddenly felt just as threatened by the implications of Mike's questions, and his mood became as dark and somber as those clouds.


	55. Safe, Safe Place

_February 14, 2007_

"What do you want to do tonight?" Priestly asked Tish as they walked down the beach hand in hand. Given that it was Wednesday and Jen had beat them all to asking for the day off, he and Tish would be working until close. He'd finished his single class for the day, however, and they were both dressed for work. When they'd had their fill of the beach, they'd go to the grill.

"I don't know," Tish shrugged, smiling up at him a little, squinting in the bright sun.

After a couple days of rain, it looked brighter outside even with the same sun. February tended to be the rainiest month in Santa Cruz, and it was certainly holding true this year. He tended to reflect on the past a little about this time each year, maybe because the weather reminded him of his drive from Florida with Trucker and how he was so desperate to see the sun again by the time they reached Santa Cruz…both literally and figuratively.

Priestly walked wordlessly along beside Tish, remembering those dark, confusing days. Days he still hadn't really talked to her about. Everyone at the grill knew he'd stayed with Trucker for a while when he first got to town. They couldn't not know about it considering how familiar he was with Trucker's house. The first barbecue they had, the new employee always inevitably asked him how he knew his way around so well. Instead of thinking it was from previous barbecues, they always seemed to realize it was something else. He never lied, never pretended it was just from prior events. He always just said he stayed with Trucker for a while when he first got into town and left it at that. No one ever asked for more, including Tish.

Priestly wondered if he explained about his father and everything that went down back home whether Tish would understand better. He wondered, not for the first time, whether he wasn't also too focused on appearance. The difference was that he was focused on his own appearance rather than that of others. For all his irritation at Tish and her focus on appearance…maybe he was guilty of the same thing just in a different way. Fuck if he knew what the solution was.

"Hey," Tish said beside him. "You're quiet. What's going on?"

She seemed to be asking him that a lot lately. Was he really such a loudmouth that his silence was very unnerving?

Priestly smiled down at her. "Nothing. Just enjoying the walk, the beach, and you."

She smiled back. "Awwww," she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

He stopped, turning to her, dipping his head to kiss her. Tish sank against him in the way that he loved, like there was no place else she'd rather be. When he lifted his head, her eyes were clouded, dazed. His ability to put that look in her eyes made him half crazy.

They walked along in silence for a few minutes. He noticed a fresh bank of clouds threatening to ruin the sunny day in a few more hours. Besides that observation, he just enjoyed the moment, knowing they'd have to head to the grill soon.

"Look," Tish pointed. When he looked up, following her finger, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the boardwalk in the distance.

"What?" he asked, not seeing whatever it was she wanted.

"You don't see?"

"No," he replied. And then he did see. Tadd and Brad. Walking along the beach about 100 yards behind them. Priestly didn't think either one realized they were on the beach. It wasn't like they were looking their way or anything. Still, Priestly wasn't interested in finding out if Tadd wanted to try for a pound of fleshy revenge. "Ok," he said, "Now I see what you see. You want to get out of here?"

"Yes, please," Tish said. "I don't want him putting any more dents in your head."

Priestly, who'd begun walking again, stopped and dropped her hand. "What? What makes you think he could take me?"

Tish rolled her eyes. "I was kidding," she said, but she grabbed his hand. "Let's go."

He didn't move, didn't let her pull him along. "No. Seriously, Tish, do you really think I'm some kind of useless wuss?"

She stopped, irritated now. "Priestly, let's go. I don't want any trouble or any chance of trouble." He noticed she didn't answer his question. He didn't like what her non-answer implied.

"There's not going to be any trouble," Priestly shot back. "And if there was, I could handle it."

She sighed deeply and looked at the sky. "I'm sorry I pointed them out, alright? I'm sorry I pissed you off somehow. Can we just go?"

"No," he shook his head.

"Priestly!" Tish snapped, never taking her eyes off him. He could all but feel her anxiety. It was like she refused to look at them, even though Priestly glanced over to his left and saw Tadd and Brad closing the distance, still seemingly unaware of them. But Tish's anxiety bothered him. What was she so afraid of?

Priestly folded his arms and looked down at her. He didn't spare them another look. Instead, he watched Tish watch him. He actually could feel Tadd and Brad approach just by studying Tish, watching the tension build in her. He'd never asked, but now he wanted to.

"That night I heard you tell Tadd that 'this' never would have happened if he and Brad hadn't tried to get you to do something you didn't want to do," Priestly said, his eyes never leaving hers. "What was that all about?"

Her eyes flashed with something, something fleeting and quick, but he caught it. Embarrassment. Shame. Revulsion. Fear. All in the space of a second. "Tadd and I were, you know, making out," she said quietly, evenly, breaking eye contact. Priestly reached out and took her hands. "And then Brad showed up in the doorway like he was going to join in."

Priestly swore softly under his breath.

"I freaked out. Gross," she mumbled, looking down at the sand beside Priestly's feet. She shrugged. "They tried to make like it was no big deal, but I shoved Tadd away and got out of bed and started putting my clothes on. When I tried to leave, Tadd grabbed me and tried to get me back on the bed. I got past him, but he grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let me go. So I fought him, and he lost his grip and I fell against his dresser."

Priestly swore again, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hands as he held them gently. He looked up to his right just in time to see Tadd looking straight at him with a nasty smirk on his face. Like he somehow heard their quiet conversation even though Priestly knew he was too far away. He felt Tish tense under his fingers. He made no move toward them, and he said nothing. He really didn't like it that Tish apparently still felt like he was some kind of wimp who was in danger of getting his clock cleaned, but he wasn't going to jump the dude just to prove a point.

This time when she tugged on his hands, he let her pull him out of the spot he'd been rooted to moments before. He let her lead the way back toward his car, wondering all the while if he was ever not going to end up feeling like some sort of loser around her.

* * *

_February 14, 2007_

"If you want something, you have to spell it out," Priestly said emphatically. "We're not mind readers! And we don't think like you do."

Trucker nodded, in full agreement with him. Of course, Zo was across the street at her shop and was missing the conversation, but Priestly was directing his words at Piper, Jen, and Tish. They were pretty much ignoring him as they bitched about how guys always did the most ridiculous things on Valentine's day, from overdoing it to doing nothing at all.

"Well," Jen said with a shrug, "I have no prior basis for comparison, so I guess I can't really complain. I'm sure anything Jeff does will be great."

"No pressure or anything," Priestly muttered under his breath as he prepped a couple of cold Spicy Italians and thought of Tadd and Brad as he did it.

Jen spared him an amused smirk. "Did you get anything for Tish, Priestly?" she asked as Tish disappeared to deliver a different order to a table out front.

He looked up. He hadn't, actually. After the lemon pendant fiasco he was afraid to give her anything. He was also very short on cash after fixing Gossamer recently. As he looked at Piper and Tish he wondered with some dismay if he hadn't made the wrong decision. He shrugged and put on false cheer. "Me to know, Tish to find out."

But he worried. He worried and sweated until his lunch break, which, thankfully was not at the same time as Tish's break. The only thing he could think of was to ask Zo for some advice, so he headed out of the grill and went into Zo's shop. He hoped none of the girls saw him.

Zo glanced up from the shelf she was stocking and smiled her always gentle smile. "Hi, Priestly," she greeted. When he just nodded at her, glancing around at her shop and wondering if Tish would like anything in it, she moved closer to him. "You look troubled," she said, a question in her eyes.

"It's Valentine's Day," he said, figuring that would explain everything.

"Yes," she smiled, "it is."

When she didn't indicate any understanding of where he was going with it, Priestly looked at a display she had set up near the front. White roses and sensual massage oils and a CD of meditation music. Not really something he thought Tish would get excited over.

He sighed. "Can I ask you a question, you know, about women?"

Zo looked amused. "Sure," she agreed, turning back to her shelf as if she sensed his discomfort and that it might be easier to talk to her if she wasn't staring straight at him in that powerful, knowing way of hers.

"Ok. So, the last time I got Tish something she got mad at me, so I didn't get her anything. You know, for Valentine's. But now the girls are over at the grill talking about how ridiculous guys are and how they either try to do too much or they don't do anything at all."

Zo looked at him, her eyes twinkling as she fought the corners of her mouth. He sighed.

"Go ahead," he said, gesturing toward her. "Laugh all you want," he added miserably. "Just please help me not mess this up."

Zo moved toward him. "What does your heart tell you?"

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he replied. "I went with it last time, and it got me in trouble."

"It always matters," Zo argued, putting a consoling hand on his shoulder. "What is it saying today?"

"It's saying based on what I'm hearing in the grill, I'm toast if I show up empty handed," he sighed. "But that leads me to the next question…how do I figure out the middle ground? How do I figure out something that's not too much but that's not, you know, nothing?"

Zo just looked at him for a moment. "You already have the answer, Priestly. You just have to trust it, honor it."

He really liked Zo, but right now he halfway wanted to strangle her. "Zo," he said wearily, "you're not helping me."

She laughed. "It's not as difficult as you think it is," she replied warmly. "You have a big heart. You just need to step back from the woulds and the shoulds and _listen_ to it." She gestured to him. "Come here," she urged, stepping back into the far corner of her shop. There was a CD player set up there with a big, comfy recliner. "Sit down." He sat. She put a disc in the player and then moved away for a moment. He heard a drawer slide open and closed again. She held a set of earphones out, plugging them in. "Listen to this," she said. "Just listen and go wherever it takes you."

He leaned back in the chair and listened to the soothing sound of the waves and seagulls as a soft female voice encouraged him to breathe deeply and clear his mind. He fought the urge to snort with laughter at how obvious it was, but in the next moment he felt his whole body relaxing on her cue. In that place near sleep where you are still aware of everything around but also detached from it, he followed the soft urgings and drifted on the voice until suddenly he got a picture of Tish in his head, warm and golden, smiling up at him in the late afternoon sunshine as the lemon pendant she never took off glinted and winked at him.

She never took it off.

Huh. Priestly wondered at that. He'd been focused on her initial reaction to it instead of noticing her ongoing reaction to it. She never took it off.

Just as quickly, he got an idea for something he could do for Tish for Valentine's Day. He tugged the earphones out of his ears and turned off the player. "Thanks, Zo," he called over his shoulder as he headed back out on the street.

* * *

_February 14, 2007_

Six hours later, Priestly wondered what he'd been thinking, why he'd thought renting Tish a documentary called "Beautiful" was a good idea. Well, he rationalized as he drove carefully back to his apartment, trying not to get in a wreck in the pouring rain, he figured she liked documentaries, that's why. And when he'd told her apologetically that he was short on cash at the moment, she hadn't been opposed to getting takeout and watching a movie at her place. She just had issues with his choice of films.

As they began watching the documentary, Priestly marveled at how appropriate it was for her. It was a critical look at the message being sent by movies and magazines in America: be gorgeous or be unwanted, ignored, overlooked, etc. He was hoping the film would show her again that she didn't have to be perfect to be loved. Instead, a half hour into the film she grabbed her empty takeout container and stomped into her little kitchen and began quite noisily doing the dishes.

"You want me to stop it?" he'd asked, glancing into the kitchen after her, knowing she was upset but not really understanding why. She replied coolly,

"Let it run. I can hear it."

So he left it alone, watching it, himself. Priestly thought it was interesting, actually. The camera followed a woman trying to make it big in modeling, a teenage girl whose parents sent her to fat camp, and two women who wanted plastic surgery for different reasons…one because she thought her breasts were too small and the other because she had a birthmark she didn't like on her forehead.

As the movie played on, however, Tish's rattling in the kitchen became louder and louder until he finally shut off the DVD player and sauntered over to her. He watched her from the edge of the counter for a few moments until she turned his way.

"Okay, so the movie was a bad idea," he said. "Can we go out someplace instead?"

"No, we can't," she replied coldly.

"C'mon, Tish, I'm sorry. I thought you liked documentaries."

"I do," she agreed flatly.

"So, what's the problem, then?"

She tossed her dishtowel on the counter and shook her head. "If you don't know, Priestly, I can't explain it to you."

He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Whatever I did to piss you off, I'm sorry. Can we just sit down and relax and talk about this?"

"I get enough of this bullshit from my mother, Priestly, I don't need it from my boyfriend!"

"What?" he asked, confused. What bullshit?

"I don't want to talk about looks, okay? Not my looks, not other people's, not what's wrong with our society. I don't want to focus on it any more than I already have to."

"But the focus of the movie was on how America's too focused on looks…" he shook his head. "I thought—"

"You thought what, Priestly? You thought if you shoved it down my throat that it would somehow cure my mother from her obsession with looks? You thought it might shut me up about my own?"

"Jesus," he shook his head again, not understanding how everything always seemed to be his fault, how he could never seem to make her happy. Except in bed. "You know, Tish, I just wanted to show you that maybe you don't need to be so concerned about that shit all the time."

She nodded. "So you thought showing me that movie tonight was a good idea. On Valentine's Day. A day when, I don't know, we're supposed to be happy and focused on each other and just have fun. And instead you want to fix everything that's wrong with poor, dumb Tish."

"God!" Priestly stepped back from the counter as she stormed past him into the living room. "Quit putting all sorts of words in my mouth that I'm not saying. You like documentaries, I thought you'd like watching one with me."

"So, how about _When the Levees Broke_?" Tish countered. "Are you up to feeling romantic when you're stuck remembering how freaked out you were worrying about your mother during Katrina?"

He just watched her silently.

"No?" she spat, her eyes narrowing. "How about _Deliver Us From Evil?_ Huh? Know what that one's about?"

Priestly felt himself pale. "Yeah," he said numbly. "I know what that's about." It was about Oliver O'Grady, a priest that got reassigned to new parishes over and over again instead of being disciplined or imprisoned for raping numerous children. "But how did you know I–″

Tish gave him an exasperated look. "How did I know what?" she countered. "That you wouldn't like to watch a sad ass film about kids getting molested? Who would?"

He felt a shiver as he realized she didn't know. She didn't know anything, she just thought the documentary he picked was the equivalent to…that. He felt sick.

"So what exactly made you think it was romantic to sit and watch a bunch of people talking about their fucked up self esteem for two hours?"

Priestly felt something in him begin to burn. Not shame. Anger. "Fine, so I'm a fucking idiot who doesn't know a damn thing about anything and can't do a damn thing right. So fucking tell me what it is you want, Tish, because I sure as hell can't figure it out."

"That's right, you can't," she agreed sourly.

"I'm trying, Tish. I really am. But seriously. What the fuck do you see in me?" He stared hard at her, not looking away from her even when she looked away from him. "You can't stand my clothes, my hair, or my piercings. You don't want me to cook or bake for you because you're sure you're going to get fat if I do. You sure as hell don't want me to give you any jewelry or celebrate the fact that we're together, so what? What the hell do you want? Cause really, Tish, I'm lost. I could use a couple hints."

She refused to look at him.

"Are you going to talk to me, or should I just go home?" He asked when she said nothing for several excruciating minutes.

"Go home," she replied in clipped tones.

"Fine," he answered, ignoring the sharp bloom of pain in his chest.

Priestly eased onto his street and grimaced at the sheet of rain he was about to step into. He thought about sitting in the car for a few minutes until it slowed down, but in the end he asked himself what the fuck he cared about his clothes tonight. He'd changed into something else for her, and if they got wet…who cared?

_February 15, 2007_

Priestly glanced at the door and then at the clock. _1:55 a.m. _He'd been staring at a movie for the last hour and a half but if someone asked, he couldn't explain what it was about, who was in it, or what it was called. He glanced down at the bottle of beer in his hand and set it down on the floor as he got up to answer the door.

He expected Tish. She'd called him an hour ago. He was still pissed off enough that he ignored it, figuring if she asked him tomorrow he could claim he was sleeping and didn't hear it. He figured he'd open the door to find her standing there.

Or not.

"Jude!" he exclaimed as he took her in. Soaking wet, pale, wide-eyed and…hurt. Fuck.

When she just stood there blinking at him, he reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging her inside and flipping on the light by the door at the same time, feeling an odd sort of alarm.

"Jude?" he asked, kicking the door shut behind her. Her hair hung in dark ropes. She literally puddled on the floor as rain water rolled off her. Remembering the towels he'd mechanically folded earlier, he grabbed two of them from the laundry basket and held one out toward her. He grew even more afraid when she didn't reach out to take it, just looked at him blankly. "What happened?" he demanded, guiding her to the futon.

She came to her senses a little then, looking at the futon and seeming to realize she was drenched. Finally, with a trembling hand, she reached out and took one of the towels. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't know where else to go. You were closest."

"Whatever," Priestly replied, waving her words away. "What's going on? Are you ok?"

"I was coming out of Mojo's," she explained. "It was really crazy over there tonight," she told him, her voice muffled under the towel as she rubbed it over her hair. "I had to park like two blocks down." Not unusual since there were a lot of restaurants and night spots in that area. "This guy came out of nowhere," she continued. His blood froze in his veins as he considered the deep scrapes on her cheek and the shadow of bruises at the corner of her mouth, her other cheek. "He shoved me around, shoved me down," her face crumpled. "He took my purse and my keys and he stole my car," her voice broke. "He made me get into the car with him and then he kicked me out of the car about 2miles away once we were past any of the bars or anyplace that would still be open, so there was no one to ask to use a phone." She sobbed. "God, my car…" she moaned, covering her eyes with both hands.

Priestly reached out and took her firmly by her shoulders. "Fuck the car, Jude! Did he hurt you? Did he…" Priestly swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

She shook her head. "No," she replied, her face crumpling again as he grabbed his phone from his pocket.

After calling the police, he offered her his phone, but she didn't take it.

"I didn't have my purse," she explained. "My cell was in it, so I couldn't call Mike or Patrick and Kelly for a ride. My mom's out of town, so I'm locked out of the house. The only neighbors who have a spare key for our place are also out of town, so I just tried to figure out who was closest."

"Wait. You walked here?!" Priestly gaped.

She nodded. "I didn't have anything. No money, no phone, no car…" She started crying.

"Jesus," he breathed, sorry for her and horrified that she'd just walked about four miles in the rain. He put his arms around her. "C'mon," he said as she trembled against him, "sit down."

"I'm too wet," she argued, her voice muffled against him.

"Fuck the futon," he replied. "Sit." When she resisted, he sat and pulled her into his lap, trying not to think about what could have happened to her out there. Another wave of nausea rolled over him as he imagined her out there alone and afraid, not knowing what to do or where to go. "It's okay," he soothed as he realized her shaking wasn't just from cold but because she was silently crying. "Hey…" He rubbed her shoulders, cupped her head. He tried to absorb her shudders.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before another knock sounded on the door. He eased Jude off his lap and strode quickly to the door. Two officers stood on the landing in rain gear, the sirens on their squad car spinning at the curb below. Just what he needed. He was grateful they weren't sounding off, at least. "Hey, come in," he said, stepping back. "She's right here."

He sat beside her, holding her hand as she explained what happened to the officers. Both Priestly and the police tried to convince her to go to the hospital to get checked out, but she steadfastly refused. Since she was over eighteen, they couldn't insist on calling her mother or anyone else. They asked more than once if she'd been sexually assaulted. Her voice was steady as she denied each time. Priestly was more than a little relieved to hear the truth in her words.

It was almost four in the morning by the time he closed the door behind them. Thankfully, none of the neighborhood seemed the wiser. The last thing he needed was his mom freaking out.

Priestly turned to Jude. Now that the cops had seen her as she was, she needed to get cleaned up, get dry and get warm. He said these things to her as he gently tugged her to her feet. "Bathroom," he said softly, steering her there. "I'll be right back…"

He didn't realize what he'd grabbed until the ghost of a smile touched on her lips. _Life gave me Melons._ He grinned at her like he'd meant to do that. "You want to shower?" he asked. When she nodded he pulled the curtain aside and said, "These towels are clean." She nodded and he backed out of the bathroom and shut the door softly.

She didn't waste time or linger. He was pacing the length of the place when she opened the bathroom door and exited on a cloud of steam. He wished he had some tequila or other hard liquor she could shoot for a quick relaxer. Instead, he offered her a beer. She shook her head. He offered her a bottle of water, instead, and she took it.

"C'mon," he said, gesturing at the futon. "I, uh, I made up the futon. But if you want, I can sleep out here and you can sleep in there, you know, if you'll be more comfortable."

She shook her head. "It's ok. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

He waved it off. "No, Jude, seriously. You've had a rough night. You can take it if you want."

She was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head. "No. I'm okay. I'll be okay here."

"Are you warm enough?" he asked as he turned the light by the door off. The TV was still on, and the flickering light it offered was more than enough for him to see his way to the bedroom.

"I'm fine, Priestly, really," she assured him. He heard the rustling of her finding a comfortable position and settling into the futon.

"If you need anything, let me know."

"Ok. Thanks."

"Sure," he said. "You want the TV off or anything?"

"I have the remote," she agreed. "Can you see if I turn it off?"

"Sure."

The room plunged into silent darkness. Contrary to his assurance he nearly crashed into the wall but managed to avoid it.

Priestly flopped on his back on his bed and stared up at the shadowy ceiling of his room for a long, long time. So long that he was finally almost asleep when he heard a soft noise. Crying. She was crying. Sniffling. Probably trying to be quiet so he couldn't hear.

"Jude?" he asked softly, padding quietly out to the futon in case he was imagining things and she was actually asleep.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I just…every time I close my eyes I see his face again," she drew a deep shuddering breath.

He found her still damp hair in the dark and stroked it softly. "Hey," he said softly. "You're okay."

"I know," she agreed miserably.

"Would it help if you came into the bedroom with me?"

She sniffled. "Maybe. I don't want to put you out."

"It's fine," he said softly, taking her hand and giving it a little tug so that she got to her feet.

Once she was settled against him, he felt the awkwardness as he thought about Tish, knowing exactly what she would think if she could somehow see them right now. "Look, Jude," he whispered, "I'm seeing someone right now, so–"

"I understand," she said softly. "I just want to try to sleep."

"I'm sorry, I just didn't want–″

"I know. Mike told me when I saw him last night."

After a few moments of silence, Priestly couldn't resist asking, "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"I just came back for Mom's birthday and then Mike happened to mention he got this new job he was going for, and–"

"He got the job?" Priestly grinned in the dark.

"Yeah," she answered. He could hear the smile in her voice and was glad for it. Maybe he could take her mind off it for a while. "I'm supposed to fly back on Sunday."

After a few moments of silence, he was just starting to drift off when she said,

"You look really different. I almost thought I had the wrong place."

He sighed.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he whispered. "Go to sleep."

He was almost asleep again when she whispered,

"_I really miss you."_

He pretended to be asleep but couldn't stop the silent answer: _I miss me, too._


	56. The Sound of Settling

_February 15, 2007_

Priestly blinked against the bright light that blazed behind the closed blinds, the blackout curtains he'd forgotten to close over them pinned back uselessly to the sides. He heard knocking and realized what had brought him out of sleep. Priestly blinked again as he noticed blonde hair next to him. Memory flooded back. Jude remained oblivious as he shot out of bed and pulled a t-shirt on over his pajama pants and worried about who was on the other side of that door.

_Please don't be Tish. Please don't be Tish. Please don't be Tish._

Fuck.

One peek out the peephole made his nightmare true, his wish not honored in the slightest. He stood on the other side of the door, his heart hammering in his chest and waited for her to give up and go away. She didn't have a car. What was she doing here? Who drove her? He wondered. It really wasn't her thing to take the bus any more often than necessary. Priestly glanced at the clock on his DVD player. Crap. He was supposed to be in class, but he forgot to set any kind of alarm. Fabulous.

He waited for Tish to turn away, but his car was in the driveway, so she had to realize he was there. He tried to figure out what he'd tell her if she asked why he didn't answer the door. He hated to lie, but letting her in to discover Jude in his bed would be much, much worse. He'd never get her to buy that nothing happened even though nothing _had _happened.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He peeked out at her again. Why the hell wasn't she leaving? He saw her check her watch, look up and down the street, and sit down at his little patio table to wait. Priestly made a face. Shit. Shit. What now?

He snatched his phone off the futon as he saw her poking at her cell phone. He scrolled quickly to Mike's number and hit send, backing away from the door. All he needed was his phone to blast out her ring tone.

"Priestly?" Mike sounded cheerful.

"Yeah, man," Priestly said in hushed tones as he went into his bathroom. Paranoid, yeah. But he didn't want any chance of Tish hearing him.

"What's going on?"

"I need a big favor. Big."

"What's up?" Mike rephrased, sounding distracted.

"My girlfriend is outside my front door, and I have Jude sleeping in my bed right now."

"What?" Mike's voice hardened.

"No, no, no," Priestly rushed to explain. "Seriously, dude, it's not like that. Jude got carjacked last night after you all left Mojo's."

"Jesus, are you serious?" Mike's hard edge fell completely away.

"Dead serious. She had no phone, no car, no keys, no money. She walked to my place in the fucking rain because the guy dumped her out of the car away from any place that would still be open. She had no way to call anyone for help. She's ok, but she crashed here last night."

"Yeah, but in your bed?"

He sighed. "Really? You're focused on that?"

"Sorry, but I'm not getting why you crashed in _with_ her is all." Now amusement crackled through the line.

"Seriously? You can't fucking figure out that she was scared half out of her mind and didn't want to be alone?" It was Priestly's turn to get the hard edge in his voice.

"Okay, okay," Mike replied. Priestly could all but see him hold his hands up in that surrendering gesture he liked to use when he went too far with someone. "So, how can I help?"

"Can you come over here like you're looking for me or something? She's sitting outside on my landing at my patio table like she's never going to leave. I have to get Jude out of here before Tish jumps to the wrong fucking conclusion."

"Why can't you just open the door and tell her the truth?"

Priestly sighed. Yeah. Why couldn't he? "Because she'll never fucking believe it. Would you, if you walked in and some other guy was in your girl's bed? Seriously?"

Mike was silent for a moment. Priestly started to wonder if the call dropped. "You're very lucky that I happen to be in your area right now to fill out some paperwork for my new job. I'll be there in like five minutes."

"Hey, man, congrats on the job. Jude mentioned it last night." He considered sneaking back toward the door to look out and see if Tish was still there.

"Make sure Jude calls me later, too. I feel really bad. I should have walked her to her car or something." his voice grew somber.

"I will."

"What exactly should I do? Just come over, knock on the door?"

"Nah. Stay on the phone with me so she can't call me. I don't want her to hear my phone ring. When you get here you can hang up. And then I'll call you right back. Make sure she hears you talking to me."

Mike laughed. "Dude, you're way off the deep end. She must mean a lot to you if you're trying this hard to cover up nothing."

Priestly wondered how to respond to that. Until last night, he would have agreed with that sentiment. Right now, though, all he could think of was how they never seemed to do anything but fight and bicker and get irritated with each other about the dumbest shit.

"You still there?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," Priestly answered.

"Alright, man, I'm just passing The Hobnob. I'll be there in a couple minutes. Can I hang up now?"

"Hold on…" Priestly eased over to the front door. Tish was just checking her watch again, but her phone was on the table. He crept back over by his bedroom door. "Yeah. I'll call you back when I see you hit the driveway."

"Cool."

Priestly didn't dare lift a slat on the blinds, though he knew Tish would never see him at that angle. Luckily, the flash of sunlight bouncing off Mike's windshield was enough to alert him to his friend's arrival. Priestly waited until he heard a door slam before he dialed, then sweated as Mike messed with him, not picking up until the third ring.

"Priestly, man, I'm just walking up your driveway!" he said loudly enough so Priestly could hear the conversation in stereo.

"I'm not home," he played along. He figured he'd better really have the conversation in case she could somehow hear his end of it. "I'm at the UC library."

"Why is your car here if you're at the university library?"

Priestly grinned into the phone. _Good one_, he thought, moving back toward the front door. "My car broke down," he ad-libbed, "I had to hitch a ride with someone from class."

"Bummer. Car trouble sucks," Mike agreed. Then to Tish, apparently, he said, "Hi." Priestly couldn't hear her answer, but he peeked out the peephole. Mike was dressed to the nines in a full on suit and tie. "So, who's the gorgeous babe sitting outside your place, then? Don't tell me you stood her up to study."

Rolling his eyes at Mike's cheesy charm, he replied, "It might be my girlfriend, Tish. That's the only babe I can think of who'd be standing outside my apartment."

"Well, man, if you're not careful someone's going to scoop her up." Mike paused in their conversation. "Hi, I'm Mike."

"Hi," Priestly heard her answer. "I'm Tish."

"Tell her I'll catch up with her at work later," Priestly prompted.

"Tish, your boyfriend wants me to tell you he's at the UC library with his study group. His car broke down, so he's going to catch a ride to work. He'll see you later." Mike spoke to Priestly: "You want to talk to her or anything?"

Priestly hung up the phone on him.

"Huh." Mike said. Priestly saw him frown at his phone. "Must have lost the signal." A second later, Priestly heard, "Can I drop you somewhere?"

He didn't hear Tish's reply, but he saw her move across the landing and out of sight. He moved quietly to the bedroom, wondering if he dared peek out to see if she was going to get into Mike's car. He dared, and she did. Priestly wondered what she thought of Mike, dressed in his charcoal suit with the Navy blue shirt and the dark tie whose colors Priestly couldn't make out. He was driving something sleek and black, something Priestly guessed he probably just leased or bought with the anticipation of the new salary to back it up.

Sighing at the thought of the bullet he'd just dodged, Priestly grabbed some fresh clothes and headed to the bathroom to shower.

* * *

_February 15, 2007_

Priestly worried he'd be spotted driving around in his supposedly non-working vehicle the whole time he drove Jude around helping her take care of the many problems her carjacking created. They stopped at her house first, where she very nimbly found a vulnerable upstairs window and broke into her own home without damaging anything. He'd secretly worried the whole way over that the carjacker had used her registration information to break into her house or something, but the place seemed fine. If someone had been there without permission, they'd been tidy about it.

He realized as she dashed to the end of the upstairs hall, however, that no one could have been there without setting off their burglar alarm. She punched in the code for the alarm system and he watched the crazily blinking red warning light return to a calm, steady green.

"What now? Call the bank? Go down to the DMV? The cell phone store?" he asked, checking the clock on the alarm pad as they made their way downstairs.

She sighed and ran both hands through her hair. "First I have to call my Mom. She probably thinks I'm dead."

Once that call was over, Jude decided she needed to go to the DMV first. "Meet me in the car," she said. "I have to get my birth certificate."

He nodded.

As they headed for the DMV, he asked, "How's school?"

She sighed. "Almost over, thank God. Last semester. I can't wait to graduate and come back home."

He glanced at her. "What's going on? You having trouble?"

She looked a little hurt. She shrugged. "You'd know if you ever read my emails."

"Touché," he said with a small nod. After a couple minutes of semi-awkward silence, he offered, "I'm sorry, you know, I just figured it was better left alone."

"I know," she agreed, looking out the window. When she turned back to him, she forced a grin. "So, what about your classes? You still going to school?"

He nodded. "Slowly but surely. One or two at a time. Two this semester," he added. "If I pass these I'll be a junior next semester."

"What do you mean if you pass? Are you having trouble?"

He grinned. "Nah, I just don't like to count my chickens, you know?"

She laughed. "I guess. What's your major?"

He shrugged. "Business. Boring as hell, but I figure it's the best shot I have. Lots of jobs out there for the generic random degree."

Jude nodded. "But wouldn't you rather do something you love and bring passion to it? Don't you think you're more marketable that way than just going through the motions?"

He shrugged again. "I guess. I just wish I could keep doing what I'm doing and somehow make a lot more money doing it."  
"You like it at the grill that much?" Jude asked, sounding a little surprised. "I mean, I know you and Trucker are friends, but I sort of saw the grill as just something to do while you finish school."

"Yeah, but I like cooking. Even dumb stuff like prepping subs. Trucker even lets me mess around with the menu sometimes. I came up with this spicy sauce that's got just the suggestion of sweetness to it, and I put it on a grilled chicken breast. I put it on this special flat bread that's a little sweet with some grilled onion. The customers love it."

Jude smiled. "Well, hey," she said, "maybe you could open your own shop some day. Put the business degree to good use."

Priestly thought about that for a second. "Sounds like a plan," he agreed, pulling into the DMV parking lot.

Some stroke of luck got them out of the DMV with Jude's replacement license in just under fifteen minutes. From there, they headed to the bank. She'd already called them, of course, but they'd asked her to come in to fill out some forms because someone had already used her debit card to buy gas and a couple other things. The bank clerk was sympathetic, remarking on Jude's roughed up appearance and clucking around them like a mother hen type. She even gave Jude a small zippered travel bag with the bank's logo to act as her purse until she got a new one.

By the time they'd done everything they could do to get Jude back on her feet, it was nearly three o'clock. Priestly agonized over what to do…drive to work and try to explain how his car was miraculously working or call Trucker to say he'd be late and take the bus to work. Given that Tish showed up at his door that morning, she clearly didn't remember he was supposed to be in class until only about an hour before his shift started. But he'd also had Mike tell her he'd see her at work, which implied he was going to get a ride to the grill. If he drove up on his own wheels, she was going to know something was up.

_And that_, he thought, _is the trouble with lying_. When you had to start, you could never stop. Finally he decided to tell her he cut out of study group early and one of the group members helped him fix the car. And God help him that was the last lie he was planning to tell.

Priestly pulled up to the curb at Jude's place. She gave him a solemn look.

"Thanks, Priestly," she nodded, her eyes looking a little sad. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You saved my life. Seriously."

He watched her climb out of the car. "Jude!" he called as she turned to go. She turned back, a question in her eyes. He felt the lump rise in his throat. "It was good to see you. Call me if you need any more rides. Let me know if they find your car."

She nodded again. He waited until the door closed behind her to drive away.

* * *

_February 15, 2007_

He might as well not have worried. When he got to work, just a few minutes late, Tish didn't even ask. She also didn't mention the fact that she was at his place that morning, even though they both knew she was. A little puzzled by her distraction, he took a minute after the small rush cleared to pull her aside in the back room.

"Listen, Tish," he said, rubbing her upper arms affectionately, "I'm sorry about last night, I should have realized it was a bad idea, but I really wasn't thinking of it that way, you know? I was thinking, Tish likes documentaries, I wish I could take her out but I'm strapped, and—″

She cut him off. "It's ok," she said quickly, rising on her tip toes to kiss him. "I came to your place this morning to tell you the same thing. I over reacted. I guess I was just in a pissy mood, anyway. Mom always made such a big deal out of Valentine's when I was growing up." Tish shook her head. "It was this major competition in our house, almost. Who could get the most attention. I should have told you I actually hate Valentine's Day. I was totally relieved when you didn't want to make some ridiculous big deal out of it, but I guess I still knew in the back of my mind that my mother was going to call me this morning to ask how the big day was with my new boyfriend." She sighed, wrapping her arms around her middle in the way he'd come to recognize as a protective maneuver. Protection and self-comfort.

Priestly nudged her arms away from her middle and slid his own there in their place. Ducking to meet her mouth, he kissed her deeply as if he could kiss away the pain she harbored. It was so amazing to him that in the end, as beautiful as she was, Tish had her own scars and her own insecurities. In some ways he thought Jen, who they'd all sort of thought had the lowest self-esteem amongst them, was actually the most together one of them all. Weird.

Tish began to yield under his touch, tensed up places relaxing. He found himself unconsciously taking his hands to her shoulders and neck, kneading those tight spots until she hummed against his mouth. When she pulled back a little breathlessly, she panted, "You're way too good at that. We need to get back out there."

"Do we have to?" He murmured against her shoulder as he dropped his mouth there.

"Yes," she said firmly, giving him a little shove.

He backed up and headed out into the grill area, remembering to grab his apron as he went.

Priestly found himself in a good mood, relieved by Tish's acceptance of his apology, though in the back of his mind he was feeling more than a little guilty about having to lie to cover up Jude's presence in his apartment. Tish seemed preoccupied by thoughts of her own, though. Every time he looked her way she was off in her own little world, staring off into space, usually with one arm wrapped around her middle. He worried about it, but they were just busy enough to prevent him from pulling her aside to ask about it.

"Priestly!"

He whipped his head around and saw Trucker watching him with a bemused expression.

"What?" he asked, feeling a little like he'd been plunged into water unexpectedly.

"I think the soup is pretty well stirred," he replied wryly.

"I think so, too," he agreed sheepishly and moved on to checking the levels on the sandwich dressings.

"You okay? You're sort of out of it today."

He grinned at Trucker's curious expression. "I'm fine. Just have a lot going on," he added, thinking that was a pretty hefty understatement.

"Seems to be going around," was all Trucker said. It was all he needed to say for Priestly to understand his subtle acknowledgement that something might be going on with him and Tish. The guy was way too good at reading people and situations. Probably a leftover skill from Vietnam, though he doubted the original application of that ability had anything to do with relationships.

Trucker couldn't say anything else, for Zo came into the shop to meet him for dinner. She carried a wicker picnic basket, which meant they would probably wander over to the beach together. Trucker took the basket as he leaned in and kissed her. Priestly never got used to it after watching Trucker and Zo dance around each other for so long. It tripped him out a little every time, though they were openly affectionate with one another.

Priestly thought about Trucker and Zo and the apparent ease and comfort of their relationship. Then he thought about himself and Tish. They had fire, sure. But good sex was only one part of a relationship. In the bigger picture, he wasn't even sure what portion sex, even damn good sex, would or should represent. They definitely didn't have ease. Every moment with Tish felt like work, he realized. It felt like negotiating a mine field, wondering what wrong step he would take next to set off a potentially devastating explosion. That realization made him more uneasy than the guilt over his cover up with Jude.

Still, he wasn't ready to give up on Tish yet. On one hand, she was everything he thought he wanted…funny, smart, caring, sexy, spontaneous. It was the other hand that was the problem. The other hand held her hang ups about appearances, his as much as her own, her short fuse when it came to those hang ups, and her inability to accept gestures that meant commitment, like the lemon pendant. In that sense, he felt like he'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire. First Jude's problem with commitment, and now Tish's problem with it. To be fair, however, Tish's problem was more of a problem of public acknowledgment rather than acknowledgment overall. She did refer to Priestly as her boyfriend. She just didn't want to mark the passage of time within their relationship and didn't really want any sort of gifts from him. She made an exception for Christmas because everybody was exchanging gifts. He thought she would probably make an exception for her birthday also, but he wasn't sure.

And that brought him right back full circle to the essential questions that had been nagging at him just under the surface of it all: Could he fully accept Tish knowing she didn't fully accept who he was and likely never would? Was he willing to permanently remain this hybrid mix of Priestly and Boaz when all he really wanted was to go back to being Priestly full time?

He wished he fucking knew the answers.


	57. What It's Like

_February 16, 2007_

The day started out well enough. Priestly's Friday class was cancelled because the instructor was too sick to make it in, so a runner from the admissions office came in to call off class and to pass on a reminder about a term paper coming due. He texted Tish on the way off campus, but she was with a friend and would be until it came time for her shift.

It was also a good day already because he had a rare Saturday off. Once in a while Trucker randomly had each of them off for a whole weekend, and it was his turn this time. The only bummer was that Tish wouldn't have off, too, but that's what happened when you dated someone at work. Still, Tish was looking forward to spending time with him after work, as her next text indicated.

Mike was fully entrenched in his new 9-5 position, so Priestly knew he wouldn't be able to hang around. Priestly wondered what to do with his newly freed hours. He wasn't due at work until three, and it was only nine a.m.

In the end, he threw on his yard clothes and took care of Leo's place. It was work, sure, but it wasn't work he really minded. The sun was shining, the air was cool. It was the perfect time to be outdoors. He'd let the place go a little longer than usual because of the extra time he was spending with Tish. Leo was pretty cool about not getting on his case about it, but he figured he'd better hold up his end of the lease agreement.

After almost two hours, the yard was neatly manicured and the flower beds tidy. Priestly was just heading upstairs to shower when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. Checking the display, he saw Jude's number. For the first time since they broke up, he picked up the call.

"Hello?"

"Priestly?" Jude asked, her end a little staticky. "Can you hear me?" Almost to herself he heard her mutter, "God, I hate this phone."

"Yeah, I can hear you. What's up? Need a lift?"

"The police found my car. I could use a ride to the tow yard. I'm supposed to check for damages and let the insurance company know what's going on."

"Can you give me a half hour?"

"Sure."

"Are you at your house?"

"Yes."

He told her he'd see her in 30 and waited until she hung up to do the same. He felt a little guilty for reasons he couldn't explain. It wasn't as though he was going to get romantic with Jude. She just needed a ride. It was probably just leftover guilt from the sleepover.

Jude must have been watching for him, because she was out the front door before he could bother to climb out of Gossamer. She bounced in with that infectious energy of hers and gave him a grin.

"Where to?" he asked, grinning back as she turned up the radio.

She called out the address over the song, and he shook his head. "Where's that?"

"Just get on Cabrillo and take the 41st Avenue exit."

"Aye, aye," he nodded, pulling out of her driveway.

Coastal Counties Towing turned out to be a converted house on the corner of Portola and 38th. The young receptionist inside was friendly. She said Jude's insurance company had already arranged to pay the storage fees. She called for a runner to walk them out to the car with instructions to check out the body, check under the hood, check the interior, and see if the car would start.

Jude's little black Beetle with the red lightning bolt had likely been located because of the unique paint job. Most cars stolen in California, the tow yard runner said, ended up in Mexico or Canada. And the rest ended up stripped and burned out, ditched in cities like San Jose. Jude's car, by contrast, had been pulled over near a strip mall and the driver arrested. Jude's face looked tight as she explained her next errand, if her car was drivable, was to visit the police holding facility to take a look at the suspect they arrested to see if it was the guy who assaulted her and stole her belongings.

Priestly rubbed her back as the runner led them to a utility cart. The towing facility main entrance was actually half a mile from their storage yard, so he was going to drive them there. Priestly checked his watch. It was just after noon. "I might have time to run you over there," he said.

Jude checked his watch, too, since her replacement phone was turned off and on the bottom of the little zippered tote the bank had given her the day before. She nodded. "Maybe."

She groaned as the car came into sight. Priestly winced. Dusty and muddy, the little car was dented in at the rear quarter panel on the driver's side and had a long, deep scratch from the back to the front. The back windshield was cracked, and there was another long scratch on the other side of the car. It looked like someone tap danced on the hood or like hail the size of tennis balls had mysteriously fallen only there, which obviously had not been the case. Priestly rubbed her back again as she started to cry.

"Oh, my God…" she wept, "they're going to total it out. Damn it!" Gingerly, as if the car might actually feel pain, she opened the driver's door and ducked inside. The runner, looking grim and sympathetic both at once, handed her the key after she signed the temporary check out form. Priestly had a hunch it wouldn't start, and he was right.

"Pop the hood," he said. When she did, he looked underneath. He didn't know a ton about cars, really, but he thought he might notice something obvious. He did. "Battery's gone, for one," he said.

The runner wrote some notes on his clipboard and took the keys back from Jude. "Be sure to check the interior thoroughly and the glove box and cargo areas."

Priestly checked out the car for himself as Jude did as suggested, taking note of a tear in the head curtain and discovering some cigarette burns in the back seats. He hated to point them out to Jude. It just made her cry a little more. He stood by helplessly while Jude powered up her cell phone to call the insurance company. He and the runner exchanged defeated looks as Jude paced and explained the damages to the adjuster.

When she disconnected the line, she let out a big sigh. "He's going to come over here tomorrow to look at the car," she said flatly, tucking the phone back in her purse.

The runner drove them back to the main entrance in silence. He gave her a receipt to sign showing they still had the car and the key in their possession. Priestly checked his watch again. Almost one p.m. He didn't ask Jude where she needed to go next. It felt like rubbing salt in a wound. Instead, he just pointed the car back toward the freeway and waited to see if she would say anything. She pulled her phone back out and messed with it for a minute before she asked dully,

"Do you have time to come with me to check out the guy the police are holding?"

Priestly nodded. "Where?"

She read the address off her phone and said, "I think it's off of 15th near Trent."

He drove silently, unable to help her or console her. The car meant a lot to her. He understood it. A car was freedom, especially for Jude. She'd once told him when her parents got stupid and started playing their tug of war with her she'd slam out of whichever house she was in and just drive away. One of her fondest daydreams was to just keep driving and not go home…camp in the car, find work until she could settle in a little apartment of her own somewhere.

"Did you know," she said suddenly as they were rocketing down the freeway toward the 15th Street exit, "I bought that car myself?"

Priestly glanced at her, surprised. He'd always just assumed it was the spoils of the War of the Parents, just another trinket that either Mr. or Mrs. Morgan gave to Jude in demonstration of who was the better parent, who loved Jude more.

"I did," she nodded. "I started working when I was twelve. Babysitting, of course," she smirked. "Back then my mother made me save half of everything I earned. She claimed it was for college, but when I turned 18 I found out part of the divorce settlement was that she and my father would each maintain a college savings plan for me instead of alimony for anyone. When I was sixteen I was able to get a real job, so I quit babysitting and went to work at Joop's, but I gained like fifteen pounds in six months working there, so I quit." She grinned. "I just did a lot of odd jobs after that, sometimes two or three at once. It's a miracle I kept my grades up enough to make it in at Bryn Mawr," she added.

"You really saved that whole time without touching it?" Priestly asked.

"Well, I wanted the money," Jude replied. "I begged my mom over and over for just a little withdraw, you know, for clothes or something stupid, but she wouldn't let me and it was a special account where we both had to sign for any withdrawals until I turned 18. On my 18th birthday, I withdrew everything but $500.00. I put a big down payment on the car, bought the insurance policy, had a custom shop add the red lightning bolt, and kept the rest in savings for repairs. I just finished paying it off last year," she finished, her voice roughening with fresh tears.

Hearing that, he felt even worse. He wasn't sure he wouldn't feel the same way if something happened to Gossamer. He'd worked for his car just as Jude had worked for hers. He wasn't sure, but he thought she might be right. Given the age and the extent of the damage, it might be a total loss. That sucked. It really, really sucked.

When they pulled into the lot at the temporary holding facility, Priestly felt his body knot up. He didn't know how Jude felt, but knowing he might be about to see the son of a bitch who hurt her strung him so tight he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out of the car. He managed it, circling around to open the door for Jude. She rose slowly, wiping her eyes. Without a thought, he put his hand on her back and rubbed sympathetically.

He forced himself to remain silent. _Like a ghost,_ he told himself. _Dead people can't talk. _Priestly just rubbed her back and let her take his hand for support as she filled out a form and showed her ID. He squeezed her hand as an officer emerged from the bowels of the center and led them back into a room to wait. He was startled by the fact that it was not unlike TV…they were shown into a room with a one way mirror while the man the police had arrested driving her vehicle was led into the other room to stare at his own reflection with the knowledge that whoever was on the other side would seal his fate.

Almost instantaneously, Jude said flatly, "That's not him. I don't know who that is."

"Are you sure?" the officer asked. "Take your time."

"I don't need to take any time," she snapped. "The guy who attacked me and took my car wasn't Hispanic. He was white, he was taller than me, and he was skinnier but more muscular than this guy. I don't know who this guy is or how he ended up with my car, but this isn't the man who assaulted me and stole my purse and my car. But he must know who did," she added.

"Okay," the officer said, handing her a card. "This is the phone number of the detective assigned to your case. You can contact him if you have any questions or can think of anything else that might be of use."

Jude stood looking at the guy who was found driving her vehicle, pocketing the card. "What's going to happen to this guy?"

The officer's voice was as flat as hers as he replied, "He'll be questioned further and transferred to jail until his hearing or until someone scrapes up his bail."

She nodded again. Priestly worried about the lack of emotion on her face. She was too calm. They left the facility without speaking to each other, Jude's hand still resting in his. She only let him go when she ducked into the passenger side of the car. When he ducked in beside her, she glanced at him. "I guess that's it for today, it's getting late. You have to get to work."

He grimaced. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Can you drop me at my aunt's?" she asked.

"Sure," he nodded, starting the car.

She gave him casual directions as he drove even though he was pretty sure he still remembered how to get there. When he pulled up at the curb twenty minutes later, she gave him one of her brilliant smiles.

"I'm sorry this has been such a bummer day for you," he said. The face she made in reply was the first sign that she wasn't as calm as she pretended to be.

"It is what it is, right?" But her question was sarcastic rather than accepting.

"Call me if you need a ride someplace," he said. She nodded.

He felt like he'd just dropped off a puppy at a shelter as he pulled away and looked up into the rearview mirror only to see Jude there staring after him, watching him go.

* * *

_February 16, 2007_

Tish wanted to meet some of her friends up at a place called Longren's Pub for dinner and drinks. Priestly just wanted a quiet evening alone with her. Not that they had to stay in or anything, but he wasn't crazy about going out with her friends that night in particular.

"Can we maybe do it another time?" he asked as he ducked into a blue pullover that Tish particularly liked, hoping it would make her more agreeable to his suggestion.

She shrugged, sliding her arms around him. "I already told them we'd come," she said.

He looked at her for a long moment. "Can you call it off?" He turned to her as she frowned up at him.

"C'mon, Priestly," she replied, "it's just dinner and drinks. I've been talking you up to Steve and Amy for weeks now. They want to meet you."

He sighed. "I know," he said. He did know. She'd been trying to arrange their schedules for a couple weeks now at least, but someone always had to work. "I just had a kind of rough day, and I thought it would be nice to just chill out alone with you this time."

"Getting our schedules to match up is really hard," Tish argued back. She had a point, he knew. He considered dropping it, but he just really wasn't feeling the double date thing that night. When he said as much, she gave a loud sigh. "Priestly," she said, "I really, really want you to do this for me. Please don't ask me to cancel tonight because God only knows when it will ever work out again."

Priestly just watched her for a moment, saw the worry in her eyes and realized it really did mean a lot to her. He relented, though he genuinely didn't want to.

The trouble with doing something you genuinely didn't want to do was that it was immediately obvious to everyone around you that you were not having a good time. Priestly tried to put on his game face. He tried to smile and make polite conversation with Steve and Amy, people he had little in common with. Priestly always tried to find some way to connect with everybody, a skill that had served him well at the grill.

One thing that became immediately obvious as the four of them shared drinks and appetizers out on the cozy heated patio of Longren's Pub was that Steve and Amy liked to people watch. Priestly loved just sitting and watching people. You saw love, you saw hate. Tenderness, laughter, happiness, anger, and sometimes plain craziness. He liked wondering about people's stories. Steve and Amy, on the other hand, liked to watch people to feel superior to them. Every man, woman, child and animal was inferior in some way, picked apart for what they surely thought was amusement. Priestly didn't understand how Tish could enjoy hanging around them at all, given how self-conscious she was about her own appearance.

"Look," Steve nudged him. "Check out that fat dude trying to ride the bike over there…"

Priestly followed his pointing finger. A young guy in a hoodie and threadbare jean shorts was huffing it uphill. He put Priestly in mind of that actor comedian guy, Kevin James. Longren's sat on the corner of an intersection, the patio looking down from atop a six foot retaining wall. The view was awesome.

"Looks like he's having a little trouble," Priestly agreed, watching the guy strain to get his bike to the corner below Longren's where the road would even out for a stretch before winding back down about two blocks away.

"Yeah, cause he weighs like two-eighty."

"Nah," Priestly shook his head. "Not that much."

"Close," Steve laughed.

"Well," Priestly said, rising as their guest pager went off, signaling a table was ready for them inside, "looks like he's trying to shape up. That's cool."

Steve snorted. "He'll probably ride down the other side and go right into McDonald's."

Priestly didn't answer. He just smiled at the hostess and held the door to let everyone pass.

They continued to have little in common all through dinner. Somehow the topic turned to panhandling. While Priestly understood cynicism and knew that money given to people on street corners was equally likely to purchase booze, drugs, or smokes as it was to feed someone, he couldn't keep quiet when Steve ranted about dead weight and welfare cases.

"Yeah," Priestly nodded, finding it horribly ironic that they sat with linen tablecloths across their laps drinking from a bottle of wine that cost more than he made in two days of work, "I know there are probably better ways to take care of the needy than handing money to people on street corners, but you have to trust a little bit at some point that things are what they are. Not everybody out there is a convict or an addict. What about war vets?" he asked, thinking about Trucker and the dark times he hinted at. "Our boss was in 'Nam. He was messed up for a long time after." Priestly swallowed a bit of water. "Hell, I'm sure he still is. Some of those guys out there are just…" he searched for the word.

"Just dwelling on the shitty hand life gave them," Steve finished. "Your boss owns a restaurant, that's my whole point. He's living proof that bad circumstances don't automatically equal alcoholic bum sponging off hardworking people."

"Sure," Priestly nodded. "But how do you know the homeless guy under the bridge is alcoholic? How do you know that, say, a week ago he didn't have a roof over his head and food and everything he needed? How do you know that he won't do an honest day's work if someone would just hire him?"

"You don't get to be a bum on the street overnight, Priestly," Amy said, sipping her wine.

"How do you know?" he countered. Tish gave him a look. Amy didn't look upset by his question or by the fact that he obviously disagreed with Steve's position, so he went on. "Look, I'm not saying there aren't lazy people out there who just want to live off the system. Sure there are. But why automatically jump to that? Is it so impossible that when you see that person asking for a buck to buy a sandwich or a gallon of gas or, I don't know, milk for their kids…is it so impossible to believe that they might be on the level?"

Steve shook his head. "I guess it could be like that. But have you ever had someone ask you for money as you waited in line at a drive through only to offer to buy them breakfast and have them refuse it?"

"Yeah, sure," Priestly nodded. "But I've also been cleaning up the grill after closing and had Robby come by because my boss, Trucker, packs up the leftover soup we have each day and has it ready for anyone who might come along hoping for a meal that day." He ignored Tish's dark look. "It's not all about money or the next fix. Not for everyone. Not every time."

"This Robby guy," Steve said, pausing with a bite of steak on his fork, "he probably drinks or does drugs or something. Giving a guy food is fine if he's going to actually eat it. But that also just means the guy knows where to go for handout after handout."

Priestly sighed. "Yeah, I'm sure he does drink. I'm just saying that just because someone is stuck in an addiction they can't kick doesn't mean that at some point they don't need some comfort and some kindness. These are people who still have needs and feelings."

"Who live their lives expecting everybody else to take care of them instead of taking responsibility for themselves," Steve retorted. "Tish didn't tell me you were a bleeding heart liberal type, Priestly."

Priestly understood that the guy was probably just making a joke, but he wanted to punch the dude across the table. Another hour with the arrogant prick was probably going to kill him. He wanted to reply that Tish didn't tell him her friend Steve was a heartless jackass. Instead he lifted one shoulder and said, "I just feel like there's more to people than the few short glimpses we get to see. There's a story behind it, something that made a guy or a woman so low that they don't know how to get back up again."

Tish made a point to ask Amy about a necklace she was wearing. Priestly was glad for the attempt at the subject change, but Steve wasn't ready to give up.

"Don't you wonder, though, why some people can rise above it and some can't? Your boss could have gone that way, right? I mean, if we're going to use the horrors of war as a valid reason for giving up and living off whatever you can get from the rest of society, doesn't it stand to reason that if your boss is standing on his own two feet that every other war vet out there should be able to do the same thing?"

Priestly sat back in his chair. "You hate broccoli, right?"

Steve looked puzzled. "What?"

"Broccoli," Priestly repeated. "Do you like it?"

"No, I don't," Steve said, watching Priestly warily.

Priestly nodded at Amy, who happened to have a piece of broccoli on her fork. "You like broccoli, right, Amy?"

"I do, yeah," she nodded, putting the broccoli in her mouth.

"So, you should be able to eat that broccoli, Steve," Priestly said, pointing to it with his fork before spearing his own floret and putting it in his mouth.

Steve gave him a sour look but nodded. "Okay, fair enough," he replied. "You keep saying 'I just mean' and 'I'm just saying'. Well, all I mean and all I'm saying is that a lot of them could change their circumstances with just a little bit of effort and just a little less sense of entitlement."

Priestly put down his fork, having lost his appetite. "It's not that easy, Steve," he said. "That's a really simple point of view. Really black and white."

"Well, sometimes that's how things are. Simple."

Priestly didn't bother to reply. Tish tried again to change the subject, asking Amy about a trip she and Steve were planning. He let the women carry on about hotels and shopping. Steve called for the check. He glanced at it, put some money in the folder and passed it to Priestly. Priestly opened the folder. $258.00. Holy shit. He glanced at Steve's contribution to the check. Thankfully, the guy had paid for the wine he'd ordered as well as for his and Amy's plates and a fair portion of the tip. He hadn't really been prepared for the expense of the place, but he couldn't blame Tish. He could have asked beforehand about where they were going and what the place would cost. He'd made the mistake of assuming Tish would understand it was more than he could afford. After tucking enough cash into the folder to cover his and Tish's meals and their part of the tip, Priestly excused himself for the bathroom.

"Why don't you meet us outside when you're finished?" Steve suggested. Priestly nodded.

The night had cooled sharply, much to Priestly's delight. Tish was cold and didn't want to linger. Priestly obligingly shook Steve's hand when it was offered and nodded at Amy when she said it was nice to meet him. He watched the two of them turn away and head to Steve's shiny Toyota before putting his hand on Tish's back to walk her to his car. She stepped away from his hand silently, tugging her jacket closer to her body.

He barely got the engine started before she snapped,

"Thanks a lot for a great evening."

He looked at her and waited, knowing she wouldn't stop there.

"I know you didn't want to go, but you didn't have to be a jerk."

"Me?" he protested. "What did I do?"

"Oh, please. Everything Steve said you had to go and argue with him. I can't believe you."

"I didn't argue with him, I just had a different opinion."

"Oh, bullshit!" she cried. "You just didn't want to be there, so you were determined not to agree with anyone about anything."

"I didn't agree with him because I didn't agree with him," Priestly replied. "It had nothing to do with the fact that I didn't want to go, but yeah, I didn't want to go. I told you that."

"Great, so spend the night being a dick to my friends instead of sucking it up and being a gentleman."

Priestly shook his head and put the car in gear, twisting the knob to turn on the heat now that the engine had warmed up a little. "Tish, I think the guy was a complete asshole, but I wasn't intentionally being a jerk. I was having a conversation. That's what people do."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to disagree with every single point he made," she spat.

"I didn't," Priestly answered.

"Oh, you did, too. Steve feels like too many people take advantage of the system, and you were always right there to argue that they don't."

"No, that's not what I said. I agreed he was right, just not all the time. It's not all black and white. His argument is that everyone is lazy and out to get something for nothing. I don't think that's accurate, at least not in every case."

"But why couldn't you just let him win one?"

Priestly shook his head. "Tish, it's not a game. I'm not going to toss the dog a bone just to make peace. He stated his case, I stated mine. You seem to be the only person who can't deal with it."

"Well all _I'm_ saying is I think you tried really hard to make sure you and Steve didn't hit it off."

Priestly pulled the car onto West Cliff and parked. "Tish, the guy is welcome to his opinion. I'm not going to agree with him just to win him over."

"Yeah, well, you didn't. Just because you didn't want to go out with my friends tonight didn't mean you had to ruin it for the future."

"Is that what you think? You think I was intentionally–"

"Yeah, I do. I think if he said the sky was blue you would have argued it was green just to make sure we never have to hang out with them again."

Priestly snorted. "Jesus."

"What?" she challenged.

"I didn't like the guy, Tish, so what? You want to double with them again, fine, let's do it. I'm probably not going to agree with anything he says because he's a completely stuck up jackass. That has nothing to do with the fact that I would have preferred tonight to be just you and me."

"Keep telling yourself that, maybe it will come true."

"Tish, I was fucking homeless for a week before Trucker took me in, alright? You happy now? Do you maybe get just a little bit now why I don't think that every homeless person is just out to freeload?"

Tish looked at him in shock.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I was nineteen, sick of living in my father's house, sick of being told every day of my life that everything I wanted or cared about was wrong or stupid. Some other junk happened that just sort of made it impossible for me to live one more minute under his roof, so I took off with just a backpack full of clothes. I had nowhere to go. I had some money, so I didn't have to beg for food, but I didn't have a roof over my head, I couldn't find a job, and eventually I would have been filthy and hungry and desperate and no different than a lot of people out there. So beg my fucking pardon if I don't see eye to eye with Steve on the issues of homelessness and panhandling."

He said nothing further, and Tish didn't, either. Priestly thought she'd at least have some questions about what he'd told her, but she said nothing. When he got to her apartment building, he shut off the car, but Tish didn't wait for him to open the door for her. She lunged out of the car without saying goodbye. She didn't slam the door, but she wasn't exactly gentle with it, either.

He scrambled out of the car after her and followed her to her door. Jamming the key in the lock, she shoved her way inside, shutting the door in his face without a single word.

"Yeah, goodnight, Tish," he muttered, storming back to his car. He hated that he felt guilty as he did, even though he couldn't figure out what he should feel guilty for.

* * *

**_A/N: Terribly sorry for the lengthy delay between chapters. I work in insurance, and Sandy has been taking up a lot of my time and attention! My thoughts go out to those affected by this weather event!_**


	58. All Mixed Up

_February 16, 2007_

The more Priestly thought about that evening with Tish, the more annoyed he felt. He'd told her something really important about himself and his past, and she'd said nothing about it. It wasn't like he told her about leaving home to win the argument or garner sympathy, but he had hoped it would cause her to take a step back and realize that he genuinely wasn't trying to alienate Steve or Amy. He just had strong feelings about the topic because of his own experience.

Yeah. He was hurt, if you wanted to know the truth. Tish slamming the door in his face, it felt like his father's crap all over again. Maybe he could have tried harder to change the subject like she had when she'd asked Amy about her necklace. He'd admit he hadn't bothered to try, really. But it wasn't because of any sour grapes over the double date. He just really felt like he had to defend himself. That's what it boiled down to. Steve was looking down on homeless people, which naturally felt like Priestly himself was being looked down on, though to be fair Steve would have no idea about Priestly's past.

By the time he reached his apartment, Priestly was wondering if his whole relationship with Tish was a mistake. Out of nowhere, he remembered Zo's words_, _or the gist of them anyway. Don't lose sight of yourself. You've come a long way. You've earned the right to be who you are.

Had he lost sight of himself somewhere in all the compromises and all the leeway he tried to make for Tish? Not just the stuff about his appearance, but was he giving in to her desires more often than standing up for his own? He remembered, too, something Trucker hinted at after Jude stomped on his heart that last time before he broke it off.

"_Priestly, man, you don't give up on people. That's either your best asset or your Achille's heel. Maybe it's better to know when to let go. I'm not saying, you know, that it always has to be three strikes and then everybody's out, but maybe there's a better balance."_

A better balance, he thought dully as he hung the slacks back up and folded the pullover. They couldn't be dirty. Not after just a couple hours wear.

Priestly pulled on a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants and his black _Surf Naked _t-shirt and wandered to the kitchen for a beer. And then, probably feeling a little too sorry for himself and fully aware of that fact, he sat down in front of his laptop. Even though he told himself what he was doing was petty if not downright unhealthy, he double clicked on the folder he'd been filling with all Jude's emails. He really needed to hear a friendlier voice, and he was hoping he'd find it in the mystery emails. Calling Jude up, though, was out of the question. He wasn't going to be that guy, the guy who got pissed at his girlfriend and then got even by getting cozy with his ex. It was bad enough he'd slept in the same bed with Jude without telling Tish.

He almost couldn't read the first email that popped up on screen. He was too busy fighting with himself over his true motives: hoping for a more sympathetic voice, someone who might take his side, or get back at Tish passive aggressively?

_7/12/2005_

_ Ok. So you're not reading my emails. I know you aren't. But I can't give up. Because giving up is what I've always done…on people, on things that didn't work out exactly as I wanted them to. The only thing I ever stuck with, really, that was even a little bit hard, was surfing. Everything else, when it wasn't easy, I gave up after a while. When I dropped violin and tennis and ballet I told my mom it was because I was bored and begged to try the next thing that looked interesting. But I was really just disappointed and impatient and…you get the picture._

_ So I'm not giving up on you. On us. Because, as you've probably missed because you aren't reading my emails, I want there to be an "us". I hope there's still an "us", Priestly._

_ Ok. For now, I can't think of anything else to say. This is pretty much what I have been saying that you seem to not have been reading. I wish you'd read. Or pick up the phone so I could say it all out loud. _

_ Jude_

He sat up straighter in his chair, feeling like he'd been sucker punched in the middle of his chest. Jesus. That was the last thing he expected to see first email in. And it was the last thing he needed to see right now. He got up, paced the apartment for a few minutes. He tried to decide whether to read any more of them or whether to close the laptop and do something else. In the end, the pull of curiosity was too great. And anyway…once you opened Pandora's Box, there was no closing it again.

_8/22/05_

_ Today is the 2__nd__ anniversary of the day I messed you up for the first time. Maybe it is too assuming to say I broke your heart. Maybe I give myself too much credit. Maybe it's conceited of me. But I've always wanted to tell you something, in case it wasn't perfectly clear at the time. That day, I broke my heart, too._

_Wistfully, _

_Jude_

_8/29/05_

_ I've been trying to call Mike for the past couple of days, but I can't seem to catch him and he isn't returning my calls. Priestly, please talk to me. I know you have family in Mississippi. For all I know you might be there. I've been watching all the news reports about Hurricane Katrina, and you can't imagine the horrible possibilities I am imagining. Just hit reply. You don't even have to say anything. I'll just get a blank email and know you are ok._

_Jude _

_ 9/15/05_

_ So this is who you really are? A guy who won't pick up a call or answer a simple email? I'm not asking you to return my feelings at this point. You've made it very clear I ruined any hope of you ever wanting to be with me again. Just please quit with the silence even just to tell me to fuck off and never email you again. Then at least I could try to move on instead of holding out hope that someday you would read my emails and forgive me for making the biggest mistake of my life. So far. _

_I don't even talk to Kevin anymore, you know that? He's my roommate's brother, and I won't even acknowledge him when he is in the same room. I made a mistake and I'm trying to fix it, but no. You won't even give me the time of day. Because you're perfect right? A perfect asshole. Yeah._

_ The invisible woman._

Priestly grimaced at the tone of her email. She was pissed off, for sure. But underneath it, as clearly as if there were tear splotches on a typewritten page, he could see the hurt. He sighed. Nothing to do but keep reading. He was in it now.

_9/16/05_

_ I'm really glad you aren't reading these emails. But just in case you are…here's my latest 'note to self': Jude... Do NOT send drunk emails to Priestly. I repeat: DO NOT send drunk emails to Priestly!_

_ Regretfully, _

_ Jude_

Priestly chuckled and moved on to the next one.

_10/19/05_

_ I really, really wish you were talking to me. I had the shittiest day. My roommate and I are barely civil to one another because of what happened with Kevin. Long story. Not a story for email, either. But like I said, Kevin and I are done. We were done before we began, just so you don't get the wrong idea. Anyway, the barely civil thing crossed over into something else today. I don't want to live with her any more, but I already requested a room change and there are none available. My mom doesn't give a crap. She just says to focus on school (my grades are shit right now, and if I can't pull them up I might very well get asked to leave) and the rest will take care of itself. Well, it's NOT taking care of itself because several hours worth of class work have vanished. Or, they HAD vanished. But when I went to go to bed tonight, where did I find those several hours of work? In little confetti pieces in my bed, under the covers. I really should get even, but that would just start a war, and she's already got everyone on the floor turned against me. I'm outnumbered._

_Jesus, the drama, right? Sounds like high school or a bad afterschool special about bullying. But then, dear roomie is pretty immature. She didn't take it well when I told Kevin to stay the hell away from me. Like I said, long story and not one for email. She and her little tribe of friends are pretty much doing everything they can to drive me off the deep end, and truthfully, I'm close. There's nothing worse than feeling trapped in circumstances you can't control, and that's me. _

_ I really, really miss you, Priestly. I could talk to Mike about this stuff, I guess, but it wouldn't be the same. He's not you._

_ Jude_

Concern furrowed his brow as Priestly wondered just what it was she wasn't saying. He could imagine being thousands of miles from home and feeling like there was no one to turn to. He'd been there, sort of. A few hundred miles from home, anyway. Hell, he'd tried to kill himself over feeling similarly. Guilt ate at him. Her desperation made him feel terrible, even as he knew he wasn't to blame. Regretful or not, Jude's actions (or inaction, you might also say) brought them to where they were.

_10/19/05_

_ Today is a better anniversary. It was the day you stretched out the olive branch and contacted me here at Bryn Mawr. Things were better for me that semester. I wasn't the social pariah of Brecon (my current dorm). My roommate wasn't making my life hell. But you have no idea how my day lit up when I saw that email. _

_I wish I'd get another one._

_ Jude_

_11/06/05_

_ I seriously can't wait for my roommate to leave for Thanksgiving. Seriously._

_Jude_

_11/22/05_

_ Last year I came home for Thanksgiving and you weren't there. Or, you were, but you weren't. I wasn't welcome. This year I stayed here in Pennsylvania, wallowing in my misery under the guise of doing some extra credit work to pull my grades up. It's a ghost town around here, and I like it. Quiet. Peaceful. If I was home I'd just be out in my full body wetsuit or getting buzzed with friends and wishing you weren't still pretending I no longer exist. I wish Mike would tell me how you're doing, but he's made it pretty clear he wants to stay out of it. But I'm glad you're still friends with him. He says playing go between is going to mess up your friendship, and he doesn't want that. So I promised him I'd be good. No more asking about Priestly._

_ Happy Thanksgiving. I still miss you._

_Jude_

_12/11/05_

_ Finals week. I finally get to come home on 12/15. I can't wait. I put in another request to change rooms. You can put one in midyear at the semester break, so I have. The trouble is they'll probably turn it down. The clerk told me they usually only get two or three requests and if the number is uneven, the odd numbered request (logged in order of submission dates) is thrown out. She checked, and my request is the fifth one on file. So unless they get a sixth in the next four days before the deadline, I'm…_

_Screwed,_

_Jude_

_ 12/25/05_

_ Since we've already established you aren't reading these, let me just say randomly to no one that I'm sort of using these emails as a journal now while still holding the picture of you in my mind and having stupid daydreams about you finally reading them and finally contacting me and letting us start over again. I'm not stupid enough to think we could just pick up where we left off. That was old Jude, stupid Jude. The Jude that kept coming home on breaks, looking you up, having a good time, and then letting you fall flat on my way back to PA. Have I told you before what an idiot Jude is?_

_Things are seriously crappy here. They never got any more room change requests, so mine got rejected. Four other people got to switch rooms, and I got a "we regret to inform you" email from the housing office. Oh, God, I hate those four mystery girls. I am so freaking jealous of them I just want to curl up and cry._

_Thankfully I am home for Christmas, but you get what I mean, right? My roommate is the Anti-Christ, and I am stuck with her until school lets out in May next year. I can't believe I signed on with her again THIS year. She said all the Kevin junk was water under the bridge, but that was when I was just indifferent to Kevin. Some other stuff went down that changed indifference to intense and active loathing, and ever since then I have been public enemy number one in the dorms. Next year, even if I have to rob a bank to cover the price difference, I'm moving into Erdman. It is mostly singles, which means no roommates. That would be bliss. _

_ For now, I study almost every waking hour, locking myself into one of the private carrels at the library. When I'm not studying, I'm working at a local restaurant as a waitress. Pretty good tips, but I hate it. I go to the room basically to sleep. My stuff disappears from our room a lot, so I have started taking anything of any real value with me in this huge rolling suitcase which is bumbling and awkward and completely inconvenient. I seriously can't take much more of this. _

_ Merry Christmas. I miss you._

_ Jude_

_ 1/1/06 _

_ It's almost midnight again, and the first day of 2006 is almost over._

_ Oh, my God. When I saw you the other night…_

_ You look really, really good. And that tattoo on your neck? _

_ Wow._

_ I just wish you hadn't been so very not interested in saying hello to me. My fault, yes. I know. But since you aren't reading these, anyway, I can admit it hurt my feelings._

_ Happy New Year._

_ Jude_

Priestly sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. Too much staring at a bright screen in an otherwise unlit room. Or it could be Jude's emails killing him softly. There were only four left. The time between them became much longer in 2006, for reasons her next email explained.

_3/15/06_

_ I'm slowly giving up hope that anything will improve. I continue to be the dorm outcast. People go silent as I walk by, and then once I have passed the whispering starts again. It really does feel like a bad afterschool special. Dear Roomie is blaming me for the fact that Kevin got put in jail last week, and I had nothing to do with it. Long story. I'll tell you someday if we ever talk again and you happen to ask. Maybe._

_ I've been getting sick a lot. Colds, stomach flu. Strep. Whether that's because I am miserable or because Roomie is doing something to cause it, I don't know. I realize that sounds paranoid and conspiracy theorist. But just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you, right? And she would have access to cultures. She interns in the bio lab. I have nightmares about her swabbing my bottled water and my soda cans with germ colonies. I truly wouldn't doubt it. _

_ I might become an OCD hand washer if this keeps up. And I no longer keep any food or drinks in the dorm. I buy it all out or I go without._

_ There doesn't seem a point to the emails, even if I call them journal entries. Nothing changes. Not you not talking to me, and not my shit life in PA._

_ Seriously not doing well…in any sense of the word._

_ Jude_

_5/19/06_

_ Happy Birthday, Priestly. I wish I was there, and I wish we were still at least friends. Blow a candle out on that one for me, will you?_

_ Jude_

_ 11/25/06_

_ So, I came by your apartment today, and I knocked on the door. You have no idea the kind of courage that took. You weren't home. A woman with eyes like yours came out of your landlord's house and said hi to me. And then I remembered Mike told me your mom moved here to Santa Cruz. I didn't tell her who I was. The thought of someone disliking me because I was a heartless stupid bitch was more than I could bear at the moment, so I just asked a few questions about where you were and if you still worked at BCG. But now that I know you do, I can't work up the nerve to go there._

_ Go figure._

_ Jude_

_2/13/07_

_ I'm coming home for Mom's birthday. I'm on the plane right now. I can't help thinking about how it is Valentine's Day and I would love to stop by your place and talk to you, but that would be ridiculous and weird given the circumstances._

_ I don't know. Maybe I am clinging to the "idea" of you like my mother says. I'm thinking of times when I was happier, and you were part of them. She says I am being selective in my memory. That's a psychologist for you. Always picking apart motives and behavior. _

_ School is still lonely, but it is better now that I am in my single at Erdman. I'm not coming down with constant illnesses anymore, which still makes me think she was somehow using some sort of germ warfare on me. But it could have been simple stress, too, I guess._

_ Crap. They're telling us to please put away our electronic devices._

_ Wish I could see you without it being too weird._

_ Jude_

Priestly stared at that last message and thought about how fucking ironic life was. Jude got her wish but in a way she never would have expected and would never have wanted.

Feeling wrung out, he closed the laptop and flopped in bed. Somehow, though he'd hoped reading the emails might make him feel better he felt worse and more fucked up than if he hadn't read them at all. But maybe that was because a part of him was wondering about the road not taken and whether Jude was right. Maybe they just liked the idea of each other when so much was fucked up all around them. Maybe they were both glorifying the memories in their minds, remembering things as better than they were. He couldn't quite still the little voice in the back of his mind that claimed otherwise.

_February 17, 2007_

"Uhn?" Priestly asked into the phone, unable to work his voice. Or his eyes, he thought as he tried to read the bedside clock. 8:15 a.m.? He'd just fallen asleep about four hours ago.

"I'm sorry, Priestly, I didn't mean to wake you," Jude said. "It's just the insurance adjuster is down at the tow yard, and he asked me if I would be able to come down because he has something he needs to show me, whatever that means."

"Okay," he yawned. "I'm up. You at home?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there in a few."

He didn't usually like to drink energy drinks, but he stopped at a convenience store for a Red Bull to help his eyes stay open. Still, he was fairly silent on the ride over. The runner drove them out to the lot again, and a guy in khakis and a blue polo sporting the insurance company logo shook Jude's hand. Moments later, he balanced his laptop in his hand and said,

"This is video surveillance from here in the tow yard," the insurance adjuster explained as they watched a guy dressed in black climb the fence, carefully avoiding the barbed wire, and then leaping carelessly on Jude's hood, likely creating the tap dancing dents they'd observed. He then popped open her door, which some idiot left unlocked, and proceeded to take the battery from under the hood. A light came on somewhere nearby and the guy hurriedly closed the hood, leap back up on Jude's car, pass the battery to someone else in the shadowy area beyond the fence, and jump back over into the night.

"Oh, my God," Jude complained. "That's just great."

"Shit," Priestly agreed. "It never even occurred to me, but you said the cops pulled over the suspect, right? So your battery would have had to have disappeared later. I can't believe I didn't think of that yesterday."

The adjuster nodded. "That's why I called you down, because I wanted you to see for yourself why we have to split this up into two separate claims."

"Shouldn't the tow yard have to pay for this? I mean, they left my car unlocked so he could just walk away with my battery!"

"Well," the adjuster winced sympathetically, "we'll try to subrogate, but they very likely have some sort of 'no bailment created' clause in their paperwork which you would have signed yesterday."

Jude frowned. "Seriously?"

"Well, this is more good news for you than bad, actually," the adjuster went on to explain. "Yes, you'll have two deductibles to pay, so that isn't so great. But by having the hood and the battery be a second claim, we are just barely going to avoid having to total the car out."

Jude's face lit up. "I get to keep my car?"

"You get to keep your car," the adjuster agreed.

"Oh, my God, that is the best news since this whole thing happened!"

Priestly grinned as Jude did a goofy little dance. This time the tears she shed were through a big smile. Something in his chest sank to his feet. When she hugged him, he didn't stop her. It was just a hug, and she was just too excited to stand still. It wasn't about him. She was just burning off excess energy.

When he yawned again as they left the tow yard, Jude asked,

"Can I buy you breakfast? My thanks for being my taxi these last couple days?"

He looked back at her. "Not necessary, Jude."

"I know, but you look like you could use some caffeine. And I suddenly want pancakes."

That he could. He found himself agreeing and pointed the car toward IHOP.

_February 17, 2007_

He tried to call Tish a couple times before he knew her shift would start, and she never picked up or returned his calls. Since it was Saturday, he tried calling Mike, but he got voicemail. He left him a quick message with another thank you for helping him out the other night and wondering if Mike would have time to get together and kick each other around on the beach any time soon or meet for a couple beers at Moe's or Mojo's.

Priestly wasn't used to having much free time. Generally, if he wasn't working or at school, he was studying, sleeping, or he was with Tish. He wasn't much of a TV watcher, he was out of fresh reading material, and since he'd already read Jude's emails he wasn't interested in doing anything on the computer.

He called the grill, but when Piper's voice came over the line, he hung up. He messed around for a while, cleaning his apartment although it was actually pretty clean already. He tried the grill again. Piper again. Damn. He hung up. He tried Tish again, but it went straight to voicemail. He hung up before the prompt, having already left her two messages.

Feeling like he was going to go crazy, he grabbed his keys but then wondered where to go, what to do. There was a vicious cold front in, so it was actually too cold to go to the beach, despite the message he left for Mike minutes earlier. He tried the grill one more time and jumped a little when Piper snapped into the phone,

"Priestly, quit calling and hanging up!"

"How–"

"Trucker got a new phone, remember? Caller ID. What do you want?" Piper replied hurriedly, still sounding irritated.

"Is Trucker there?"

"Of course he's here. He's crazy busy and so am I. We're swamped, and as you probably already know, Tish called in sick–yeah, right–so I have to go."

"What?" he asked. "Tish called in sick?"

Piper sighed. He could all but see her rolling her eyes. "Priestly…." She began wearily.

"She's pissed off at me," he told her. "I haven't been able to reach her all day. I just–You know what? Never mind. Tell Trucker help's on the way."

Why not? He had nothing better to do.

Trucker looked displeased when he came in and put on an apron. After fending off the surfer's litany of, "Man, it's your day off, you don't need to be coming in here. We'll make it okay."

He couldn't really find a suitable comeback when Priestly just snorted, rolled his eyes and looked pointedly out at the line that stretched to the door. When the customers were finally served and no one else was waiting, Priestly found himself back under Trucker's scrutiny.

"Is there something going on you want to talk about?"

Priestly looked up at him and wondered whether to talk or whether to leave it alone. Undecided, he shrugged, but Trucker wouldn't let it alone. On the excuse of helping him log in a large delivery they'd just gotten that morning which was still waiting in the walk-in to be verified, Trucker pulled Priestly away from Piper's and Jen's curious ears.

"Okay, man. We all just sort of assumed Tish called off to spend time with you, but that's clearly not the case, so what's going on?"

Priestly's urge to grin was tempered by a small zing of pain. Did Trucker really think he'd encourage Tish to inconvenience everyone at the grill so they could spend time together? He found himself chiding Trucker for that assumption. "Man, it's not cool that you guys think I would ask her to do that."

Trucker gave him a thoughtful look. "I didn't say you asked her to."

Priestly looked over his shoulder, caught. "Well, I wouldn't," he replied sulkily.

Trucker fought a grin. "Ok. But that still doesn't answer my question."

"What do I know? I don't know why she's out. I called her a couple times today, and she didn't call me back." He shrugged.

"Did something–″

The walk-in door swung open. Jen stood there. "Guys? Can you do the inventory later? We're getting backed up again."

Because she was already gone before they had a chance to agree, Priestly glanced at Trucker.

"Look, could we maybe have dinner tonight if you're not busy with Zo? I mean, I know it's too cold to barbecue, but we could just get a pizza."

Trucker grinned and nodded. "Sure, man. It's been a while. I could stand the sight of you for dinner, I guess."

Priestly smirked at him and followed him back into the front knowing Trucker had gotten exactly what he was after in the first place.


	59. Find Yourself

_February 17, 2007_

After they killed a whole large pizza by themselves (ok, to be fair, Priestly probably the lion's share) Priestly and Trucker sat out in the back room on his lumpy old sofa, though the sliding door was closed tight against the cold night air. They made quite a pair, both lying back against the cushions, each with one hand on their overstuffed stomachs and the other curled around the necks of their beers. Trucker rolled his head toward Priestly without lifting it from the sofa.

"Ok. Enough wasting time. What's going on?"

Priestly didn't look at him. He studied the ceiling, instead. After clearing his throat, Priestly asked, "Can we talk as just two dudes who don't work at the same place? You're not my boss, you're not Tish's boss?" Before Trucker could respond, Priestly said, "You know what? Never mind. It's not fair to get into all this with you. I don't want to put you in a weird spot."

As Priestly lunged forward to gather their discarded plates and the pizza box, Trucker groaned and laughed as he forced himself into an upright position only to push Priestly back down. It didn't take much, given that he felt like he'd explode any second and unleash a volcanic eruption of pizza and beer all over the place. He should _not _have grabbed that last slice. Jesus.

Trucker fell back next to him. "C'mon, the fact that you and Tish are dating isn't a big secret, and neither is the fact that you guys spend almost as much time fighting as making up."

Priestly snorted a laugh. "You got that right."

"So what happened between last night when you guys left work and this morning?"

Priestly explained as much as he could. He tried hard to make sure he accurately portrayed the issues. He tried not to place blame or make like it was all Tish's fault. It wasn't. In retrospect, he could see where, like with Joe, he probably antagonized Steve a little. He went on to explain some of their other issues, too, just to give Trucker the whole picture.

When he finally took a breath and waited, Trucker sighed. "You're probably not going to love what I'm going to say, Priestly, but hear me out, okay?"

Priestly nodded, watching Trucker's face for clues as the surfer tried sitting up again. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he looked over at Priestly.

"I think you spent your whole life up until I met you being what everyone else wanted you to be instead of what _you_ wanted to be. One of the first things you said to me about your appearance was it was a 'fuck you' to everyone back in Latimer. I think that's what you said," Trucker said to himself, his eyes roving as he searched his memory. "Anyway," Trucker continued, waving a hand in the air as if to dismiss the question of his ability to recall, "the question I have for you now is…is Priestly, meaning you pre-makeover," Trucker paused and held a hand up as Priestly started to object to his phrasing, "who _you _want, or is that still Boaz getting even and flipping off his father?" Trucker put his hands up again as if to fend off more objections. "Not that it's not understandable, man. But is it just that…just a way to get back at your dad? Or is it really who you are and who you want to keep on being?"

They sat together in silence as Priestly thought about it. He liked the snarky shirts, and he loved and deeply missed his labret. But, as Trucker's question made clear…was it an irrefutable, non-negotiable part of who he was? Or was he just fighting the demons of the past?

When Priestly offered Trucker nothing, Trucker looked over at him again. "Priestly, man, if the reason you're Boaz, as you say, is to make Tish happy, maybe you should ask yourself why you aren't making _yourself_ happy. Screw everybody else. No offense to Tish. But at the end of the day, if she wants nothing to do with you unless you're Boaz, is this really a relationship worth holding on to?"

"That's an excellent question," said a soft voice from behind them. Priestly glanced over his shoulder as Zo smiled softly, leaning against the door jamb.

Trucker contorted his head to glance over the back of the sofa at Zo. She crossed the room in a few quick strides as if to save his neck, bending over the back of the couch to fit her mouth against his. She was chaste about it, probably because Priestly was there. Then she leaned over his way and kissed his forehead. He gave her a grin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll stay out of it."

She grabbed the mostly empty pizza box which was littered with their discarded plates and napkins and left the room.

Priestly and Trucker fell into silence, tipping their beers occasionally. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Trucker asked,

"Anything else going on?"

"Nope," Priestly replied. "Just same old, same old. School, work, fight with Tish, repeat."

Trucker laughed. "Well, I guess you've got some thinking left to do."

Priestly nodded. "I don't want to, you know, just give up on her. Sometimes she's really, really awesome. But it's like the awesome is disappearing, and I keep trying to get it back but it just moves further away."

Trucker chuckled at his choice of words. "Kid, it's not up to you to save the world and fix everyone." Priestly blinked at Trucker. Trucker answered that by laughing again. "Don't act innocent. You know exactly what I'm talking about. You help everybody, you try to fix all the things that are wrong, especially stuff that has nothing to do with you."

At his dubious look, Trucker said, "Do you know that when we first met, I spent most of the drive back to Santa Cruz trying to figure you out? Here's this kid whose outward appearance seems to send a 'don't mess with me' sort of vibe out, but every time I turn around he's making the world a better place. He's feeding stray dogs and giving money to homeless dudes and fixing cars for stranded single moms. And after we got to town, it just kept going. He's boosting Jen's self-esteem, he's transforming a trashed apartment into a decent place again, he's playing matchmaker, he's pitching in at the grill, he's covering for people when no one asked him to…it just goes on and on. You help people, Priestly. But maybe it's time for you to pull back and start asking for the things you want…whether that means asking other people for things or asking yourself." Trucker let him chew on that for a few minutes before adding, "Tish's problems, her issues…those are her responsibility to deal with. It isn't your job to make whatever crap she's hanging on to go away. If she's got these issues with looks, that's her bag, man. Not yours. Quit taking it on. Helping people is fine, but draw the line, kid. Help. Don't take on solving everything." For emphasis, Trucker laid a hand on Priestly's shoulder.

"C'mon, Truck. You're making me sound like a fucking saint or something. Half the time I go around feeling like a major asshole. I mean, all I can think about since the restaurant was maybe I went too far, maybe it's my fault. Maybe I should've tried harder to change the subject. Tish tried, you know. She asked Amy about this necklace she was wearing. I should have gone with that. But Steve kept on about the homeless thing, and I was feeling sort of like he was talking about me, so I guess I felt like I had to defend myself."

Trucker nodded. "Did you tell Tish that?"

Priestly shrugged. "I tried to, but she just went inside and slammed the door in my face."

Trucker didn't seem to know how to respond to that. Finally, he said, "Priestly, I can tell you one thing for sure. I'd call you a lot of things, but a major asshole isn't one of them. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Priestly shrugged. Sometimes he still felt like he could hear his father berating him. Like the little voice in his head was his father's voice, still telling him what to do and wondering aloud why he was such a disappointment whenever he chose something for himself that his father didn't agree with. Except now he also saw Tish's expression of dismay...that look that said, are you really going to wear (do, say) that?

The whole thing just sucked. He cared about Tish, but he wasn't sure he could say he loved her. He thought he did once, which was probably stupid since they'd only been dating since December. That was probably too soon for love, anyway. But whatever he still felt for her, he was also feeling let down and disillusioned and…tired.

When Trucker nudged him, he lifted his head and realized he'd been starting to doze off. Grinning sheepishly, he heaved himself to his feet, patting his stomach and rolling his eyes at himself. "I better go before I end up crashing here all night," he said, yawning.

"You can if you want, no big deal," Trucker said.

"Tempting," Priestly said, "but I should go home or my Mom will worry."

Trucker nodded and walked him out, hugging himself as he stood on the porch and watched Priestly dart to his car. It seriously felt like the temperature had dropped another twenty degrees since they'd left the grill. "Take Tuesday off," Trucker called. "You shouldn't have come in today."

Priestly grinned. "Yesterday," he called out the open car door as he started the engine and saw the clock on the stereo. "We'll see," he said, closing his door. Trucker stood watching him until he rolled into the street, then went back inside where it was warmer and closed the door. Priestly thought about the old saying about doors closing and windows opening and wondered if it was time to slam some doors and crank open some windows in his life.

_February 18, 2007_

Priestly tossed and turned that night, trying to stop thinking about Trucker's voice in his head with the relentless questions echoing. _Is Priestly who _you _want or is that still Boaz getting even and flipping of his father? _Fuck if he knew. And fuck if he wanted to think about it at…at two thirty-five a.m. Priestly moaned and rolled over in bed, away from the taunting red numbers on his clock.

He'd tried calling Tish a couple more times. Nothing but voicemail into which he finally snarled,

"Nice to see you can be adult about this. I worked today, thanks to you. I couldn't leave them slammed like they were. Call me or don't call me, whatever. Be pissed at me if you want, fine. But don't take it out on Piper and Jen and Trucker."

He'd spent the last several hours also feeling guilty about that call. He'd gotten increasingly annoyed every time he got her voicemail again, and he'd finally lost his temper.

Priestly sighed and tried to shut off his head. He turned his light back on and tried reading. He took a hot shower at four a.m. Every time he started to doze he had crazy, disconnected dreams about Tish and about fighting so that all he was aware of was feeling out of sorts, angry, and exhausted.

When he woke up, he was surprised he'd ever fallen asleep. Eleven a.m. He jumped in confused alarm when something vibrated against his lower belly. Reaching underneath himself, he pulled up his phone, which he hadn't remembered having in bed in the first place. He blinked at it as he poked a button to answer the call.

"'Lo?"

"Shit. Did I wake you up?" Mike's voice was too cheerful.

"Mmm," he agreed.

"Sorry, man. I was just calling because Judy's leaving today and before I drive her to the airport, we wondered if you wanted to get some lunch with us."

"What? Like now?" he mumbled the question on a yawn.

"Yeah. In half an hour or so." Mike's voice was all but dripping with amusement.

Priestly considered it. He wouldn't mind seeing Jude off, but he wasn't sure he could come back to life by then. "Yeah, okay," he heard himself say. "Where?"

"We'll pick you up. After we drop Jude at the airport, I'll drop you back off." Never one for traditional hellos and goodbyes, Mike simply left the line.

He splashed icy cold water on his face for a good five minutes, which finally eased him into an acceptable level of consciousness. That wasn't saying much, actually. He felt like he was sleepwalking as he pulled on some jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt that said _If you believe in telekinesis, please raise my hand._

When he made it down the stairs outside his apartment and ducked into Mike's car twenty minutes later, Jude gave him a grin. Mike echoed it and remarked,

"Back to your old self, I see."

They were pulling out of the driveway before Priestly realized he'd put his labret back in and his fingers were full of rings. He hadn't even thought about it in his half alert state. Was that his answer?

At the restaurant, Priestly mostly listened to Mike and Jude banter back and forth and talk about Mike's new job, but he did ask Jude when she was getting her car back.

"I have no idea. My mom's going to have to pick it up for me." She made a face. "I'm so bummed I'm not going to be here when it's ready."

"Well, just think. Next time you come home, it'll be ready and waiting and like new."

Jude nodded. "True."

Mike's face darkened. "Jude, I am so sorry I didn't walk you to your car that night. I feel like a complete idiot."

Jude shook her head. "What's done is done, right?"

Priestly listened to their back and forth until the waitress brought their plates. After the salt and pepper and various condiments made their rounds, they took their first few bites in companionable silence. Then Mike asked him how much longer he had to go to graduate. Priestly tried to remember what he'd gone over with the lady in the academic counseling office just a couple weeks ago.

"I've got eight classes to go," he grimaced. "We sat down and mapped it out. I can take two this summer, which is awesome. I didn't think any of the classes I have left would be offered in the summer. So then it's just two by two until I'm done."

"So summer, fall, next spring and either next summer or next fall, right?" Mike counted off.

Priestly nodded. "Feels like forever."

"Nah," Mike shook his head. "Over before you know it. And then what?"

"Not sure yet," Priestly shrugged. He knew that answer didn't sit well with Mike. The guy was born with more ambition than Priestly would probably ever have.

"You're going for a business degree, right?" Mike asked.

Priestly nodded, munching on his lunch, which was his breakfast.

"It's time to start narrowing down the options and getting some focus," Mike told him. "Maybe even time to quit the grill and start working within your area of study."

Priestly looked at Mike across the table, freaked out by where the conversation was going. As if sensing his discomfort with the turn their conversation had taken, Jude nudged his foot under the table.

"Priestly was telling me the other day he might want to open up his own shop."

Mike looked at him with interest. "What?" he asked, wiping his mouth, "like a restaurant?"

Priestly shrugged. "Maybe. Some day."

Mike shook his head. "You been taking any related electives? UC had a couple good ones about food service and also some on tourism, I think."

Priestly was suddenly embarrassed to admit it, but he actually had been taking them. He'd been taking every food service related class they had, in fact. He wanted to ask Trucker a bunch of questions, too, but he'd been feeling awkward about it. Even the thought of going off on his own someday and maybe opening his own place felt like stabbing Trucker in the back. Like "Hey, thanks for the job, now I'm going to go out and be your competitor." Because let's face it. He wasn't likely to become the owner of some glitzy 5-star place. He was more a Diners, Drive-ins and Dives kind of guy, just like Trucker.

When Priestly tuned back in on the conversation, Jude and Mike were talking about different restaurant concepts. Priestly just listened to it while his own thoughts drifted back to Trucker and the Beach City Grill. Maybe he'd never get up the nerve to do it, anyway. But the thought of having something of his own… The allure was strong.

He was still a jumble of confusion, both about Tish and about his future, as they drove into San Jose to the airport. Jude noticed he was quiet and turned to peer at him from the shotgun seat several times. But she just thought he was still tired because she'd just grin and ask,

"Still awake back there?"

He grinned as she asked it again and pretended to be asleep, snoring in an exaggerated, cartoon way that made her laugh.

Standing in the airport with her was an odd experience, one she hadn't let him have when they were together. No goodbyes, she'd always said. Now, when she stepped into his embrace, she whispered in his ear,

"Thanks for helping me out, Priestly."

He nodded. "Yeah, no problem." He paused and just looked at her for a long moment. "Now that you're in Erdman, you probably don't need someone to talk to anymore, but if you want to drop me a line once in a while…" He let the thought trail off.

Realization bloomed slowly across her face in the form of a slow smile. "You read my emails," she said, folding her arms across her front, reminding him of Tish and causing him to ask himself what he was doing, inviting more communication with Jude.

He nodded. "It was a, um, a recent development," he replied.

"Thank you," she said simply, backing away, giving Mike, who was sitting in a nearby lounge chair, a small wave. When she met his eyes, there were questions in hers, but he left them unanswered because he himself still didn't know.

He did know he felt more like himself at that moment, watching Jude walk through the gate, as he had in a long, long while.


	60. End of the Line

_February 18, 2007_

After Mike dropped him back at home, the only thing that kept Priestly from going to the grill to see if Tish was there was the fact that if she was, he didn't want to get into a fight with her. She still wasn't answering his calls. He'd gone from pissed off to worried. What if something was wrong? What if she really _was_ sick, and he and everybody else thought she was bullshitting?

He was sitting somewhat forlornly out at the little table on his landing when Leo wandered out from his backyard. Seeing Priestly there, Leo nodded up at him, changing course to wander up the stairs to say hello instead of heading directly into the garage below for whatever he was after.

"Hey, man. Haven't seen you in a while," Leo said, pulling back the empty chair across from his. "You did a good job on the yard, though. When did you sneak that in?"

Priestly shrugged. "Friday, before work."

"I thought Joyce said something about you having three days off in a row or something," Leo peered at him over his Lennon style sunglasses.

"I do, or I did. I was supposed to be off yesterday, today, and tomorrow but Tish called off yesterday. Truck and the girls were in the weeds, so I went in," Priestly shrugged again.

Leo just gave a little nod. "What's the plan today, then? You off?"

"Yeah, maybe. Unless Tish calls off again and puts them in the weeds again."

"Something up, man? You don't seem real happy to be sitting in the sun on a nice day like today."

Priestly grinned. Jesus. Him and Trucker. He lifted a shoulder. "Just wondering if Tish showed up for her shift today. If she didn't, Trucker doesn't want me filling in again, but I don't want them to be crazy shorthanded, either."

Leo looked puzzled. "If Truck called you in yesterday, why would he say he doesn't want you filling in again if Tish calls off?"

"He didn't call me in. I called the grill looking for Tish, found out she called off and they were slammed, so I went in to help them out."

"Ohhhhh," Leo said, understanding now. "And you're worried they'll end up in the same boat."

"Yep," he agreed, fiddling with his phone, which stubbornly wouldn't ring because Tish wasn't calling and Jude was back in Pennsylvania. Mike was probably happy to just chill out alone knowing he'd have to go back to the 9 to 5 tomorrow.

"So you're just going to sit here and worry about what's happening or not happening at the grill instead of enjoying your day off?"

"I'm starting to worry about Tish." Priestly explained they'd had a fight and now she wasn't calling back. "I don't want to call over to the grill, because if she's not there Trucker doesn't want me to come in but they're busy, I'm going to want to help them."

Leo laughed. "Don't you know how to have fun and enjoy your days off like other kids your age?"

"Guess not," Priestly said glumly.

Leo just watched him for a long minute, until Priestly looked away down the street. "Find something to do, kiddo, or I'll tell your mom you're up here pouting."

Priestly smirked at him and pushed away from the little table because he knew for all Leo's teasing, the guy was also serious. The last thing he needed was his mother getting on his case. Ever since things turned out the way they had in Latimer, it was like she was trying to make something up to him. It killed him that she didn't want to forgive herself for looking the other way instead of standing up to his father, letting Ezekiel goad and berate and belittle him, not to mention the slapping and shoving and smacking in the name of discipline. He must have learned the art of feeling guilty from her, because she often joked you'd think they were Catholic the way the two of them "did guilt".

Leo moved on to his garage, to do whatever it was he'd intended. Priestly took his unsettled mood indoors where Leo couldn't see it. He tried studying but couldn't focus. He tried Mike but had to leave a voicemail. Finally, he'd flopped in front of the TV after putting a DVD in he'd rented from the library, which was overdue. After he was done watching it, he'd taken it back to the Sunday drop box and tried Mike again but got his voicemail. He'd ended up hanging out with Patrick at Mojo's until late in the afternoon, at which point Mike called him back and suggested some sparring at his gym with Priestly on a guest pass.

When Mike commented on his mood, which was obvious in the overly energetic way Priestly was fighting, the match turned into something that felt a little like a couch session, with Mike demanding to know what had him so fired up. But when Priestly started telling him about Tish, Mike laughed it off.

"Man, if I realized you were going to dump a bunch of girlfriend junk on me, I wouldn't have asked," he joked. But Priestly realized he was serious when things turned awkward and uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't fathom. Mike was generally eager to hear a guy out and offer advice, but when Priestly griped about Tish not being able to return a simple fucking phone call, Mike just shrugged it off. "Just give her some time. I'm sure she'll come around. You know how women are. Cold shoulder one minute, cozy the next."

"Yeah, but I'm just wondering if there's still anything left," Priestly complained, punching Mike squarely in the jaw, surprised when the blow connected. It generally took a lot more effort to catch the guy off guard. And when Priestly paused, distracted by his own thoughts, Mike didn't jab out at him like he normally would to remind him not to drop his guard. "Is she ignoring me because she's just done with it? Are we over? Is this her way of ending it or what?" He shrugged, baffled.

And then Mike took another hit, one that on his best day, Priestly couldn't normally manage.

"Dude, what's the matter with you?" Priestly asked, teasing Mike with his own words. "Focus!"

Mike just shook his head, smirked, and nailed him squarely in the chin as if to prove his lapses were momentary and would not be repeated. But instead of sending him to the mat again as he normally would, Mike just tugged off his gloves and made an excuse about being really beat after the work week he'd had and suggested they just chill out and get something to eat, instead, maybe have a drink. Considering they'd just gotten there and had barely been sparring for fifteen minutes, Priestly gave Mike a long look.

"Something up with you?"

Mike shook his head. "Just not focused, I guess, so I'm going to quit while I still have my dignity."

The joke didn't ease Priestly's mind at all. Mike was like the poster child for focus and follow through. The fact that he was quitting after half-assing his way through a few punches was not normal and sent alarm bells going off in Priestly's head, but the guy just kept shrugging off any attempt on his part to find out what the deal was. They had dinner at a local bar and grill and parted ways with Priestly still wondering just what the fuck was going on.

* * *

_February 19, 2007_

Tish finally called him on Monday. She was sullen and responded tersely to his questions about what was going on, if she was done with him or what, but she suggested they try to meet up somewhere to talk. He agreed, wondering what there was to talk about when to him she sounded like she wasn't interested in anything he had to say.

He didn't bother dressing to please her or to keep the peace. He hadn't removed his labret since putting it back in the day before, and he barely considered it before leaving it in. He wasn't shaving because he wanted his muttons back. He pulled on a pair of army surplus cargo pants and his worn in Doc Martens, a t-shirt that said _Silence is golden. Duct tape is silver_, and his army green jacket. He was pissed off, and he wasn't in the mood to appease her. Oddly, instead of feeling guilty about that, he just felt resigned to it.

He met her at a Starbucks. She was already at a table, listlessly fiddling with the straw in her iced Chai. He watched her, and she didn't notice. She didn't look at anything or anyone, she just stared down at the table and her drink, her hair pulled up in a sloppy bun, the kind she stuck pencils in at the grill.

When he sat down across from her, she avoided looking up at him right away, and she didn't say anything right away, either. She was silent but clearly aware he was there. Finally he cleared the lump out of his throat.

"Tish," he said quietly. Flatly.

Finally her eyes lifted, and, seeing him, filled. He hated the recognition he saw there. The lump returned as she gave a little wordless nod at his appearance. "You already know what I'm going to say," she said. "I can tell by the way you're dressed."

He smirked humorlessly, but she didn't see it. Her focus was back on her drink, her voice as flat as his when she continued. "I didn't call in on Saturday to be a bitch or to cause problems, I just couldn't sleep at all on Friday night. All I could do was think about us."

He waited, knowing it was coming, figuring it was inevitable all along and they were the only two idiots on the planet who hadn't realized it. What he didn't expect was her actual perspective on the matter…her reasons.

"When Trucker told me to date a nice guy, Priestly," she shook her head, "I wanted it to be you. And at the same time I didn't because you _are _such a nice guy, and I'm not a nice girl." She held up a hand when he started to object. "Priestly," she shook her head, "this isn't a self-esteem thing. I'm not saying it so that you can deny it or tell me it's not true. It's just honesty. I'm judgmental and I'm shallow and no matter how horrible a part of me feels about it, I'm just a little bit embarrassed by the way you want to go around looking all the time." He tried not to flinch at her words, but as they say, the truth hurts. He felt like he'd been slapped. "I know," she nodded, exhaling carefully as her voice wobbled. "I know exactly what a bitch that makes me sound like, but it's like part of me is this good, decent human being who can't even believe the shit she's saying right now, and the rest of me is busy looking around the room to see if everyone's watching us, wondering what we're doing here together." She wiped a lone tear that escaped. Priestly saw others trembling at the edges of her eyelids, threatening to follow. "I wanted to be the person you deserved, but I can't. We fight all the time, Priestly, and it's because no matter how much I wish I could see the world the way you do, I don't. You know? I mostly agree with Steve about homeless people, and I was thinking the same thing he was about the fat guy on the bike, and I know that makes me a bitch. I don't want to be like that, but that's who I am, and I don't think it's ever going to change."

He shook his head. "I can't be the person you want me to be, either, Tish. I didn't shave and take all my piercings out and all of that because I wanted to. I just thought you might see _me _if I stripped away all this stuff that gets in your way." Tish looked straight into his eyes when he said that. There was recognition and resignation there. "My dad asked me…no, he fucking forced me to be Boaz for nineteen years, and then I left. I left so I could stop being Boaz. I came here to tell you that this is me," Priestly gestured up and down himself. "and if you can't handle it, I guess there's no point in what we're doing."

She nodded. "Priestly, I hate it that this isn't working out. I know that probably sounds stupid, but I want you to know that. I really do like you, but I don't think I can live up to you. I called in Saturday because I was too tired to go to work and instead of sleeping like I should have been doing, I was trying to figure out how to keep us together, to keep you from dumping me for being such a bitch. But then I realized if we stayed together, I couldn't keep asking you to dress up for me because I know you hate it and you have hated it all along. But then I'd just be resenting you for _not _dressing up for me, and I'd probably keep being the same royal bitch to you that I've been being, like at Valentine's and like the other night when you told me you were homeless once, and I just slammed the door in your face." She shrugged and wiped at more tears. "Like I said, I can't live up to you."

He reached across the table and took her hand, though he wasn't sure she'd let him. But she did. She didn't pull away. He didn't know what to say or how to say it, but he opened his mouth to try, anyway. "I don't want to break up with you, either, Tish, but I can't see any other solution. I think you're being too hard on yourself. I think you care too much about what other people think, and I also know you know that already." Priestly just watched her for a minute. Once again, she was intentionally not looking back at him. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner the other night," he told her, shaking his head as she squeezed his hand. "I should have tried harder to change the subject or something." He stared out the window to their right at the traffic whizzing by. "Maybe I'm not such a nice guy," he added. "I'm tired, Tish. I feel like I can't do anything right with you, like I'm always letting you down. But at the same time I'm thinking this is your fault, so I don't think that qualifies me to win any nice guy awards. I don't know exactly why we can't fix this, but I know it shouldn't be this fucking hard all the time."

She nodded and eased her hand away from his. He realized then that he'd been absently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "It shouldn't," she agreed, removing the lemon pendant. He didn't reach for it when she held it out toward him. "Priestly," she sighed and thrust it toward him again.

He shook his head. "I don't want that. If you don't want it, just give it to a thrift store or something."

She nodded and slipped it into her purse. "I gave Trucker my two week notice yesterday."

Priestly blinked at her. "Tish, you didn't have to–"

"Yeah, I did," she said, cutting him off. "I can't work with you every day because even now, that nice girl part of me is kicking myself and screaming that I'm going to be so sorry for this later. That part of me will never be able to keep working there because when I start dating again, she's going to be telling me I'm a rotten slut for flirting with other guys right in front of you. Or if you start dating again first, good Tish is going to be miserable and jealous."

Priestly knew it was useless to argue. Her mind was made up, both about the break up and about leaving the grill. And anyway, he agreed about the break up. It wasn't working, and although he may not have fully known why when he walked in the door, he understood now. They were two people who only had good intentions in common. Both of them wanted each other for the right reasons but stayed together for the wrong ones.

He didn't like that she wanted to leave the grill, though he wasn't sure her logic was faulty in any way. After all, before they started dating, he'd been snarky and snide and sarcastic every time he watched her play her flirty games with the guys that came into the shop, and it was because he'd wanted her for himself. Even knowing they were no good for one another, he didn't think he could lose the sense of possession he felt for her, even knowing they weren't going to try any more. She was right, except she was only seeing how it would feel from her own perspective. But he, too, would be miserable and jealous once Tish started back up with the flirting and the one night stands that were her way of searching for love.

Priestly wasn't sure how to leave. Something seemed very wrong with just getting up and walking out and leaving her there to contemplate the straw in her half empty drink. So he cleared his throat and said roughly, "Look…don't go around thinking I hate you or anything. If you need anything…" he let his voice trail off under her gaze, which he couldn't read.

Finally, after a few painful moments, she nodded. "Ditto, Renaissance Man," she teased half-heartedly, one corner of her mouth quirking up.

He eased to his feet, feeling a little deflated even though he knew this meeting wasn't going to go any differently than it had. Because it felt like the right thing to do, he leaned down and kissed Tish's cheek, his palm resting against the other side of her face. He just stayed there, cheek to cheek with her for a moment wondering why he couldn't just have the girl he saw in her, the so-called "good" Tish. As he straightened again, he wondered why she stubbornly refused to realize that the "good" Tish and the "bad" Tish were all just Tish and that he'd wanted her as she was. And then a firm thought asserted itself: _Because she doesn't want you just as you are, that's why. _ He left the Starbucks wondering how she could slap a nice guy label on him as a reason not to want to work things out while at the same time wondering if Trucker was right, if he just had a problem with knowing when to quit, how to walk away when things obviously weren't going to work out or weren't right from the start.

* * *

_February 19, 2007_

Priestly drove aimlessly for a good while after leaving the Starbucks. He didn't want to go home, because if Leo thought he was pouting before, he'd probably think Priestly was close to suicidal now. He wasn't, but he knew his mom and Leo would worry just the same. When his phone rang, he almost ignored it, but since the traffic light he was approaching was turning yellow, he decided to stop and answer it, instead.

"Hello?"

"Priestly?" Jen's voice was hesitant.

He couldn't help but grin. Of course. She and Piper had to know Tish gave her notice. He wondered what Tish told them or didn't tell them. Either way, Jen was probably calling to check on him. "What's up?" he asked like he didn't know.

"Have you talked to Tish?" Jen asked hesitantly.

"Yeah." And then, because he didn't know what else to say, he added, "everything's cool."

"Really?" she asked dubiously.

"Yeah, I mean, it went the way it went and everybody's still standing."

"So she broke up with you?" her voice was sympathetic but curious.

Priestly wondered if Tish actually laid out her plans for Jen and Piper. He waited an awkward beat before saying, "It was more of a mutual thing."

Jen's voice registered surprise. "Really?"

He grinned again, humorlessly this time. "Yeah, Jen. It wasn't working out, so we talked about that and we agreed to walk away." He was a little annoyed that Jen obviously thought Tish had been the one calling all the shots and that he was just sort of left behind like a puppy in the rain.

"Want some company?" Jen asked.

"Nah. Go hang out with Fuzzzy." He could all but see Jen smile at his continued use of Jeff's screen name.

"Are you sure? I kind of hoped you'd come out bowling with me and Sherri tonight."

"Don't you have class tomorrow?" he asked suspiciously, sensing a plot. A plot to get him outside himself. At least they didn't try the usual barbecue. Thinking that, this time he grinned for real as he realized instead of sneering at their obvious tactics, he should be grateful he had such nosy, involved friends. He could do worse than having a bunch of people who cared about him, after all.

"Yeah, but we weren't necessarily planning on staying out too late."

He thought about it. Bowling. Not really his thing, but why not? It beat staying home and trying not to think about Tish and wonder how they'd get through her last two weeks at the grill. Even if they got along okay, he wasn't sure Trucker, Jen, and Piper would ever be convinced he was really okay with it. Trucker and Jen would worry and Piper would try to feel him out for them. Loaded looks would no doubt fly pointedly all over the grill behind both his and Tish's backs until she walked out of the grill for the last time, at least as an employee.

"Priestly?" Jen prompted when he didn't answer back.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "What time?"

"Around seven? The bowling place at the boardwalk?"

"Cool," he replied. "I'm driving, so I should go. But I'll meet you there," he said.

"Okay, great. Bye, Priestly," Jen replied. He heard the sound of her disconnecting moments later.

He shook his head, trying not to feel like he'd been suckered into another of his friends' versions of a couch session. Trucker a couple days ago and now Jen. But that's what you got when you were part of Trucker's whole "village" mentality, which seemed to spread to his employees and even some of his customers. So, fine. He'd go bowling to satisfy Jen's curiosity and ease her mind. Maybe if he did, it would spare him two weeks of kid gloves at the grill.


	61. Back Stabbers

_February 20, 2007_

Priestly decided to take Trucker up on his offer and took Tuesday off in place of the Saturday he'd worked. When he called Trucker just before nine in the morning on Tuesday to make sure the offer still stood, Trucker agreed it did. Curiosity laced his follow up question, however.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

Trucker sighed. "Look, you know Tish gave notice, right?"

"Yep."

"Priestly," Trucker goaded calmly. "C'mon, man. Play along. Pretend you don't know where I'm going with this."

Priestly chuckled. "Yeah, Truck, I'm fine. Figured since I worked Saturday, I'd take you up on your offer for today off, instead."

"I changed her schedule around a little so you two will have more breathing room."

"You don't have to do that. I'm a big boy, Truck. I can handle things with Tish." Priestly replied dryly.

"I know that, but I figured less face time with each other means more harmony."

"Man, c'mon. I'm not going to start anything with her, Trucker." Priestly rubbed his forehead. He wasn't sure just why he felt so annoyed, but he did.

"I know," Trucker replied easily. It just irritated Priestly more, for reasons he didn't want to think too much about.

"Alright, then, I'll see you tomorrow." He hung up the phone before Trucker could say anything else perfectly reasonable yet completely annoying.

He spent a good few hours in the UC library researching a term paper on the effects of foreign policy on international trade. It felt good to get ahead on his class work for once. If there was any benefit to the break up, it was that he had a whole lot of time on his hands that he wasn't sure what to do with. When he finished the rough draft of the term paper and logged off of his student account in the computer lab, his stomach rumbled so loudly he could have sworn the girl next to him heard it because she looked up at him briefly from the computer next to his.

Though it would mean running into Tish, Priestly was in the mood for a sub and he thought he remembered the special was supposed to be the Maui Jim Jerk, his personal favorite. Piper had started keeping a board in the back room updated for two weeks at a time so Trucker could plan the grill's specials around discounted items from their suppliers. Priestly didn't pay much attention to it, really, except to take note of his favorites.

He parked in the back even though he would only be there for a minute or two and could probably get away with parking out front at the curb, but he didn't want to risk a ticket in case he got to talking with one of the regulars and lost track of time. As he climbed out of the car, he mentally kicked himself for not phoning his order in so it would be ready to go.

He really should have thought about it, about what showing up unexpectedly could mean. Waves of irritation, jealousy and bald pain crashed over him as he noticed Tish on her tiptoes, kissing some guy already. _Already._ The awkward trifecta gave way to shock, however, as the guy lifted his head and somehow their eyes locked.

Mike.

Fuck.

Priestly wheeled around and strode quickly around the side of the building, his mind racing with questions and arguments. How long had they been seeing each other if they were already kissing like that? Was that why Mike was so distracted the other day? Did it start the same day Priestly woke up with Jude next to him and asked Mike for help with Tish? Priestly thought of the mess with Jude and how, if so, it probably served him right for lying in the first place. And besides…it wasn't like he didn't know before Starbucks where things were headed. It wasn't a huge shock or anything. In fact, he'd been going there to break up with her if she hadn't gotten there first with her comment about how she knew he knew what was coming by the way he was dressed. He'd known what was coming well before she tried to return the lemon pendant.

Priestly tried to dial down his initial reaction with those thoughts, tried to talk himself out of wanting to kick the shit out of Mike. It wasn't working.

"Priestly!" Mike called. Something in the urgency of his voice told Priestly it wasn't the first time. Priestly looked up and realized he'd kept walking right past his car. He turned and glared at Mike. Being pissed off won out over logic. Mike stopped, looking abashed at the sight of Priestly's expression. He winced, in fact, and shoved his hands into his dress slacks.

_Of course, _Priestly thought. _Of course she'd fall for you. _He remembered how Mike had been dressed, remembered the sleek car he'd showed up in. Tish had probably started falling right then. He remembered her "Oh, my God" reaction to Tadd and imagined she must have been thinking the same thing when she first saw Mike.

"Priestly," Mike sighed now, rubbing the back of his head.

"How long has this been going on?"

Mike looked over his shoulder toward the grill, his jaw tightening. Priestly shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, feeling like he'd been stabbed by Brutus' dagger while also realizing Tish was free to do whatever she wanted now, anyway. They were done, anyway, right? And Tish never had any problem going after what she wanted. He'd seen her do just that in the grill many a time. But…just so quick, like he hadn't mattered at all. Tish had mattered to him, even if things didn't work out as he'd hoped. She _mattered_.

"How long?" Priestly repeated.

Mike shook his head. "It's not like that, man, I swear."

"It's my fault, anyway, right?" Priestly smiled humorlessly. "I'm the one who fucking called you for help getting Tish off my porch, so you figured what the hell, he doesn't deserve her."

"Priestly, c'mon," Mike shook his head again. "I'm telling you, it's not like that. I mean, I didn't go over there with any intention of this happening. Jesus, I didn't even meet her until that day."

"But it did, right? I mean, that's what you're _not_ saying. You're not saying it didn't start before we broke up, so that means it _did_ start before. And that means that maybe Tish and I might have had more of a chance if you hadn't–″

Mike stood up straighter, a stony expression overtaking the apology that had been there moments earlier. "If I hadn't what? Come over to bail your ass out? Before you start pointing fingers, maybe you should remember exactly what it was that brought me to your place that morning, because you aren't exactly Mr. Clean here."

"I fucking told you, nothing happened between me and Jude that night. She wouldn't have even been there if one of you had just walked her to her fucking car." It was a cheap shot, but he wasn't above taking one. His chest felt hollow from Mike's verbal punch, so he threw his own. And it met its mark, judging by the way Mike's eyes flashed with anger.

Mike nodded. "Oh, I know. Jude assured me you were a perfect gentleman. But let's face facts, man. You're not over her, you never were. The two of you dance around each other and pretend you're okay which is bullshit."

"Don't change the subject," Priestly shook his head. "How long exactly has this been going on?"

Mike shrugged and looked over Priestly's shoulder. "What does it matter? It's not going to change anything. It's not going to make you two compatible, man, I thought you already realized that. I mean, you were already there when we talked on the beach the other day."

Priestly's laugh was harsh. "Yeah. So what was that all about? Feeling guilty make it hard to throw punches? Did you feel like you were kicking poor, sad Priestly when he was down?" He shoved Mike. "Don't do me any favors." It wasn't the fact that they were seeing each other. It was the fact that they'd been sneaking around right under his nose, apparently.

"How 'bout I throw a couple right now?" Mike stepped into him, his apologetic demeanor giving way to anger now. Priestly knew Mike could still wipe the floor with him, but he just didn't give a shit. He was too pissed off. The feeling of betrayal rose like a thick and strangling wall in his chest.

"Go ahead," Priestly encouraged. "Let's see if that guilty conscience can hold up under pressure."

Mike swung, but Priestly saw it coming and side stepped, his own fist meeting Mike's chin with a fury that scared him. Priestly wanted the guy to bleed. Mike stayed down for a long few seconds, glaring coldly up at him. "Feel better?" he asked. Then he stood up and stepped back into Priestly. "I deserved that, and I know it. That's the only reason you got that one in. You take another, I'm going to put you in the asphalt."

It wasn't Mike's threat that took the fight out of him. It was the fact that Priestly saw and recognized anguish behind Mike's anger. The guy genuinely felt bad about the way things went down. Priestly sighed. Mike apparently saw the shift in him and his own guard came down.

"Seriously, man," Mike said, chagrined now, "it wasn't something we intended to happen. And yeah, I was out of it the other day because I felt like shit. All I could do was ask myself if I was the reason you and Tish were having so many problems." Mike sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "The day I drove her home, we really hit it off," he said softly. "She mentioned she hadn't had breakfast yet because she was going to ask you to go out for some. I was hungry, too, and since I was giving her a ride, anyway, I asked if she wanted to stop somewhere for a bite. I swear to God we just talked, and yeah, I really liked her. We talked so long I had to drive her straight to the grill so she could start her shift." He looked away, turning a little red.

Priestly nodded. The reality was, Mike and Tish had only met five days ago, so their relationship, whatever it was, however it began, it was still just beginning. There wasn't much time for deception, at least not the intentional sort. Priestly knew even as he was swinging at Mike that he was just as much to blame, because whatever the reason, justifiable or not, it was his lie that brought Mike into Tish's life in the first place.

"I guess it's not the fact that you guys are…involved," Priestly grimaced. "It's–"

Mike nodded and put a hand on Priestly's shoulder to cut him off. "It's the way it looks, the way it went down, the way you found out. I'm sorry, man. Seriously. Tish was going to talk to you about it tomorrow when you came in to work. We didn't plan on you coming by for lunch."

Some of the sense of betrayal drained away with Mike's admission. Some. Not much, and certainly not all of it. The guy understood what it was he was feeling, where his anger was coming from, and the understanding diffused it somewhat. Priestly leaned back against the building and looked toward his car. He sure as shit was no longer hungry.

"Priestly, I hope you and I can still be friends," Mike said earnestly. "I know we met because of Jude, but I consider us friends. I hope we can still hang out sometimes. I'm sorry I didn't just come out and tell you what was going on, but you know…" Mike lifted a shoulder and shook his head again.

He did know. It was fucking impossible, the whole situation. Even so, he still felt the anger and the sense of betrayal boiling just underneath the understanding. It was like they said…logic was one thing, emotion another. He knew he had no claim on Tish, and he knew as well as Mike did that Mike and Tish were probably a better match. He was ambitious. That and his appearance appealed to Tish. He was a clean cut, Ken doll type perfectly content with the serial-killer-next-door look Priestly hated. He was also less outspoken than Priestly and would be more inclined to be diplomatic, whether or not he ended up liking or disliking her friends. Knowing these things didn't take much of the sting out of the fact that while he was agonizing over Tish, Mike was either waiting eagerly in the wings or was already making a play for her.

"Mike," Priestly said flatly, not looking at him, "don't take this the wrong way or anything, but don't call me. I'll call you."

Mike looked resigned. He nodded and looked at a truck that passed on Nelson. "Ok. Just think about what I said."

Priestly nodded and watched Mike saunter past his car, past the dumpsters, and back around the corner. Mike hadn't really given him a straight answer, but in the evasion he figured he had his answer, anyway. He shoved off of the brick wall of the building behind the grill and went back to his car. The worst thing was, he could really stand to burn off some steam, and he usually did that by kicking Mike's ass on the beach or at the gym. Or trying to, anyway. And that, at least for the immediate future, was out of the question.

* * *

_February 24, 2007_

Thanks to the incident with Mike outside the grill, Priestly was unable to avoid those kid gloves he'd been fearing. Trucker had Tish working Joe's old schedule so that when he came in for his shift at three, they only shared space at the grill for three hours before Tish was off work for the day. First thing on Wednesday she'd pulled him into the back room.

"Priestly, I'm sorry about the other day with Mike," she said immediately, her arms wrapped around her middle in that familiar protective gesture.

He shook his head. "Whatever, Tish. It's cool," he lied. She called him on it.

"Priestly, it's not cool. Mike said you punched him."

He moved past her toward the door that would lead from the back room into the grill area, but she stepped in his way. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his apron from the shelf beside her and put it on, then moved to the sink to scrub up since she was holding him hostage. He was _not _going to get into this shit with her, there was no point. So he'd wait her out with silence. Eventually Trucker would poke his nose into the room to see what was keeping half his staff, and Tish would have no choice but to let him out.

"_Priestly," _ Tish exhaled his name in that exasperated, pointed way she had.

He looked at her, really looked at her. She looked…like shit. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she had that rumpled look she always had whenever she stayed up too late. But then, it was just as likely to be from marathon sex as from anything troubling her. And the last thing he wanted to think about was Tish having marathon sex with Mike. It didn't matter that he knew the break up was the right thing for both of them. It all went back to that feeling of possession he still had for her. You didn't just turn off feelings like a light switch.

Tish was just looking at him, impatience warring with pity. Seeing that pity made the anger flare up in him like an ulcer, like acid rising in his throat. He sighed and folded his own arms across his chest even though it was shitty armor. He leaned back against the sink, crossing one booted foot over the other. She blew out another breath and said,

"C'mon, Priestly. I know you have questions or, I don't know, accusations. Let's talk about the elephant in the room because otherwise it'll just blow up in our faces later, and Trucker doesn't deserve that."

Priestly blinked in surprise. Was she invoking Trucker's name because she knew he felt he owed the guy, well, pretty much his life? _Clever, Tish, _he thought. _I underestimated you._ He thought about his words carefully, so that he could tell the truth without losing any shred of dignity he had left.

"You and I both know it's not cool," he nodded. "But it is what it is, and it's not like you can go back and fix it, even if you want to, right? So I'm just going to pretend that I never saw the two of you sucking face like you've known each other for years because you and I both know what that means and frankly, I don't want the details. You're going to leave me the hell alone about it because if you do give a shit about Trucker at all, you know that's the best way to make things around here as smooth as they can be until next Friday."

"What about Mike?" she asked softly. "Priestly, he's really upset. You have no idea how mad he is at himself. He really does value your friendship."

"Awwww," Priestly cooed sarcastically, straightening and heading toward Tish. Fuck it. If she wouldn't move, he'd just shove past her. He was tired of being nice. "That's really sweet the way you take up for your man. Shame you never did that for me," he added, regretting the words even as they left his mouth. He saw the tiny flinch but pretended he hadn't. "Mike already apologized," he told her. "And I'm sure he told you what I told him…don't call me, I'll call you. Whether or not I ever decide to, that's none of your business. So save the sales pitch. If I can ever look him in the eye again without wanting to kick the shit out of him, I'm sure you'll be second to know."

He didn't so much have to shove her aside as just duck past her. She was stunned by his words, clearly expecting him to stay in his nice guy role. Well, fuck that. Bringing it up just made him feel betrayed all over again, and as he was quickly learning, betrayal still didn't sit well with him. It hadn't with his father's betrayal, and now it wasn't with Tish and Mike's betrayal. Didn't seem to matter what flavor it came in…romantic or otherwise. Having your trust fucked with sucked big time, and a few soft, pleading words from Tish weren't going to fix it.

Priestly cooked silently at the grill, but everyone seemed to realize it wasn't a sad sort of silent. It was a pissed off silent. They didn't so much dance around him as take a wide berth to avoid any potential wrath. Either the regulars turned psychic all of a sudden, or they'd been otherwise filled in because no one tried to joke with him and no one asked him what was up like they normally would. Meanwhile, he tried to talk himself out of his dark, furious mood. Every time he thought he could be okay with it, though, he just felt like an idiot. Like a blind man being punk'd by the sighted. Like everyone knew what he hadn't known. Whether or not it was accurate didn't matter. He felt like the entire world had seen it coming and he hadn't, and it felt like shit. So every time he thought he might be able to forgive Mike and move on, he thought of the two of them kissing and of Mike's _oh, shit _expression when he'd lifted his head and caught sight of Priestly standing dumbstruck at the corner.

His anger didn't cool when Tish slipped out the front door for the day, either. It continued to burn right through his efforts to cool it…everything from a vigorous, loud scraping of the grill to the furious degreasing of the vent hood to the energetic mopping of the floors after closing. It burned right through Trucker's soft order for him to call it a night and Jen's invite out for a drink and Piper's silent but watchful demeanor, anxiety filling those huge eyes of hers. When he ducked out of the grill and headed for his car, he felt like the anger was never, ever going to relent. He felt held hostage by it much the same way as he'd felt he was Tish's back room hostage earlier. He didn't want it, but he didn't know how to turn it off, make it go away.

Once again, he thought it was fucking ironic that what he most needed, which was to blow off some steam kickboxing with Mike, was the last thing he would ever do.


	62. Down and Out

_February 25, 2007_

Priestly stayed angry…from that first day back at work until suddenly it was Sunday and though he was able to kid around with the regulars and act like life was mostly peachy, he was still angry. He didn't talk much to any of the girls, mostly because he didn't want anyone to notice that he was intentionally trying to ignore Tish, who kept giving him looks that he couldn't interpret. Pity? Probably. Irritation? Yeah, most likely. He'd get a little more chatty once Tish left for the day, but for the most part he kept to himself. Jen and Piper passed looks across, around, and all over the grill as if he couldn't see them doing it. Trucker, thank God, just stayed Trucker, taking care of the mundane junk for the grill like ordering and balancing the books, alternating between his favorite spot at the register or in the last booth by the bathrooms.

Though the anger dulled to a sort of apathetic malaise, he was still angry. In fact, Priestly left work angry, and he wasn't any less angry when he got home, either. The lingering anger frustrated him and scared him a little. He felt…out of control. He didn't like that feeling, didn't know what to do with it or about it.

After a quick dinner of canned stew, he sat down in front of his laptop. He tried playing some solitaire, something mindless to shut off his brain for a little while, but he couldn't concentrate on the game. He gave up and checked his email, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear from Jude just now, given her connection to Mike. Sure enough, he had an email waiting for him.

_2.19.07 _

_**Hi, Priestly.**_

_** I know this is overkill, but thanks again for being there for me when I had nowhere else to go. It meant a lot, especially since the last thing you wanted to do was talk to me or see me again. Being back at school sucks. I am so ready to be done with it already. Living in Erdman is much better than living with the roommate from hell, but it still doesn't cure my hatred of snow, cold fingers and toes, slipping and falling on patches of ice, or never ever being on time to my classes due to the fear of slipping and falling which makes me walk like somebody's 90 year old grandma. **_

_** Now, for the record: **_

_**Mike called me. I know you and Tish broke up.**_

_**I also know he's seeing Tish now**_

_**I know you aren't talking to him**_

_**In case you're wondering if I knew this crucial information before you did and kept it from you…**_

_**No, I didn't know any of this until Mike called me last night.**_

_**If you want to talk, I'm here…**_

…_**but I'll understand if that's weird and the last thing you would ever do, want to do, or consider doing.**_

_**I hope you don't change your mind about keeping in touch with me because you're mad at Mike.**_

_**Mike is sort of pissed at me because I am, in fact, a hypocrite. I've asked him about you, about how you're doing, whether you were seeing anyone, why you weren't answering my calls or emails, etc…and now I am refusing to have anything to do with this fight between you. I just wanted you to know that, in case you were worried that I'm reporting back to him about you. I told him I won't do that, and now he's mad at me.**_

_**Ok. I think that's everything.**_

_**Dreaming of Santa Cruz and counting the days until graduation (91, to be exact),**_

_**Jude**_

Priestly sighed. He'd opened the email expecting her to comment on the thing with Mike, and he was not disappointed. Didn't mean he wasn't a little pissed about it. Disheartened by the sneaking suspicion that he was going to be stuck feeling like shit until who knows when, he hit reply.

_**Jude….**_

_** I wouldn't (won't) hold something against you that you have nothing to do with. Thanks for your email. Now, for my official stance, I don't want to talk about Mike. Consider it off limits, okay? And I don't want to hear about Mike, either. I can't stop you talking to him. I don't have the right to ask that and wouldn't want to, anyway, but I hope you will leave it alone from both sides. Don't talk about me with him or him with me. **_

_** As for me, nothing cool is going on right now and for obvious reasons I am not in the best mood, so I will talk to you later.**_

_**P.**_

After sending the email, Priestly closed the lid on his laptop and grabbed his keys. It was not a night for sitting in his apartment. He wasn't sure where to go or what to do but sitting around fuming would get him nowhere.

* * *

_February 25, 2007_

As if psychic when it came to the worst possible timing, Leo woke him up way too early. Priestly knew he deserved the hangover. Mojo's had been lively and fun and it hadn't mattered in the least that he didn't particularly know anyone there. A couple of guys saw him playing pool alone and figured him for an easy mark to hustle, as if he didn't know what they were doing. So he let them pull the set up, the first clumsy game in which the tall skinny dude who was probably some kind of pool champion completely threw the game, netting Priestly twenty bucks. When the guy suggested double or nothing, Priestly just grinned and shook his head and played dumb.

"Nah, man, I suck at pool. It's a miracle I won that one. You guys have a good night."

He slid back to the bar, ordered another beer since he'd bussed it there and was now flush enough to take a cab home rather than the last bus. The bartender was new and pretty and very interested in him, but he'd had it with women for the time being, so he just tipped her well and watched part of a late night rerun of a hockey game between the live band's sets and the people watching, which was extremely good that night.

Though he had quite a bit of booze in him when he wandered outside just before last call, the frigid night air, still unseasonably cool, sobered him up a bit. Good thing, too, because a couple minutes after he hung up with the taxi company the pool sharks wandered out and started hassling him for their money.

He shrugged. "It's my money. I won the game."

"You were supposed to play again."

He grinned. "Yeah, I know. Sucks to be you sometimes."

The tall lanky one got up in his face. "Well, if you don't hand over my twenty, it's going to suck to be _you_."

Priestly looked at him for a long minute, noticing the cab swinging slowly into the lot. "I'd love to do that, but there's my cab. Excuse me," he said, moving to duck past him.

Predictably, the guy took a swing. Priestly was sober enough that he ducked it but drunk enough that his own swing was clumsy and off the mark. Still, the tall guy stumbled into his friend and gave Priestly the opportunity to duck into the cab with a laugh. He gave them the same peace sign he'd given the idiots at the supermarket…the one that turned into a _fuck you._

"Turn left!" he called to the driver, who seemed to realize time was of the essence and was already making that turn as he was saying it. Priestly rattled off his address and dropped his head back with a chuckle.

And now his head was aching dully, his mouth dry and his stomach just a little uneasy. He hadn't had enough to make him totally sick, but he wasn't feeling so hot. Good thing Trucker had given him the day off. He'd given Tish Tuesday off and that meant Priestly would only have to see her on Wednesday, Thursday, and her last day, Friday. He felt bad that he'd messed things up for Trucker again, but he wasn't going to try to talk Tish into staying. If he'd learned anything from the last week, it was that he was not, in fact, adult enough to share space with Tish after breaking up with her. Not that she was unaffected. She seemed just as uncomfortable around him as he was around her.

He blinked at Leo in the harsh morning light, early enough that his east facing door was bathed in direct sun. "What's up?" he croaked.

"Rough night?" Leo asked.

"No, the night was fine…it's this part that's rough," he covered his eyes.

"I can come back later on," Leo replied cheerfully. The guy didn't work, so Priestly figured he must get up early to surf like Trucker often did.

"Nah, man, I'm up now, so c'mon in," Priestly said, stepping back to let Leo pass.

Leo just watched him as he put a skillet on the stove and turn on the burner before grabbing a carton of eggs and a beer out of the fridge. Amused, he asked, "Trucker's hangover cure?"

"Mmmm," Priestly agreed. "You want some eggs?"

"No, but if you have a spare beer, I'll have one of those," Leo replied easily.

"Sure," Priestly said, handing him the one he'd just gotten out before ducking back into the fridge for another. "So, what's up this early?" he asked, dropping a small pat of butter into the pan.

Leo laughed. "Sorry about that," he said, still amused. "Your mom's birthday is what's up. I've been thinking about cooking something up in my shop for her, and I could use your help."

Priestly lifted his head, wondering what Leo was planning. Just as he turned to put the carton of eggs back in the fridge, Leo held out a snapshot. Priestly tucked the eggs away and took the photo. "Oh, yeah," he nodded. "Mom's old china hutch. She really loved that thing," he sighed, studying the piece in a way he never had all those years he had been in the same house with it. He tried not to think of the time his father got pissed at him and shoved him into it while he was holding a stack of plates or how the plates had shattered at his feet.

Leo looked over his shoulder at the photo. "You think between the two of us we could make her one sort of like it? Close enough to make it like she never lost it?"

Priestly considered the piece. It was mostly simple, but there were some corner details that would be tricky. He wasn't sure exactly what sort of router bit they'd need to match it, in fact. He told Leo that, and Leo said,

"Actually, that's my part. I think I can get hold of something to do it up like that, but I'm going to need your help with putting it together and the finish and everything. I'm okay at woodwork, but I figured it would mean even more if we did it together, you know?"

He peeked up at Leo with a grin, handing the photo back and cracking two eggs into the hot skillet. "Sure. Today?"

"No. Tomorrow, if you can, because it's a surprise and we need to do it when she's at work. I just wanted to sneak up here and talk to you about it while she's still in the shower."

Priestly nodded and then winced. "I've got a class at like eight tomorrow morning, but I should be back here around ten. We can work on it then. Since the grill's closed, I've got all day."

"Cool. I can do some of the prep while you're in class, and you and I can get it pieced together once you're back. I'm hoping my guy got the special order router bit in yesterday like he was supposed to so I can go out and get it today or else I'll have to find time to get that tomorrow, too."

Priestly flipped the eggs over. He hated runny yolks. He sprinkled black pepper and a little Cayenne powder over them. "Think we can get it built tomorrow except for the detail work?"

"I don't see why not."

Priestly nodded. He would never admit it, but he forgot his mother's birthday was coming up. He was eternally, silently grateful to Leo for remembering.

"Alright," Leo said, sipping his beer, "now that that's out of the way, how about you tell me what's got Trucker so freaked out these days."

Priestly turned to him with a defeated look. "Seriously?" he asked with a sigh.

Leo grinned disarmingly at him. "Kid, who do you think the Kook calls every time he's worried about somebody? You, Sally, Jen, whoever."

Priestly shook his head. "C'mon, man," he sighed again.

Leo stood up. "Alright. You can tell me about it tomorrow, then. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out." Leo winked at him, still doing his charming and disarming thing. Priestly hated to admit it, but when he watched Leo use it on other people, it generally worked.

When he heard the front door click closed behind Leo, Priestly dropped his head back and called to the empty room, "Fuck!" It made him feel just the tiniest bit better.

* * *

_February 26, 2007_

"Hey, watch it. You're gonna cut your fingers off and then your mom will kill me." Leo chided. It sounded funny coming from him because the words were spoken so calmly he might as well have been asking for a glass of water. Most people would speak them in an alarmed tone, but Leo just blurbed them out lazily.

"I'm cool," Priestly said. "I know my way around a wood shop."

"I know you do. And that's the people most likely to bleed all over because they're the ones thinking they don't need blade guards or goggles."

Priestly smiled as he finished cutting the lengths of cedar for the linens drawers that would make up the bottom of the china hutch. He loved the smell of cedar, and he used to love helping his mom set the table for special occasions just to get a whiff. "We going to dovetail these or do you want to–″

"Dovetail," Leo cut him off.

"Cool."

They worked in silence, but Priestly knew it was a matter of time before Leo was going to broach the subject of Trucker again, which was really Leo asking Priestly what was wrong. Sometimes the whole village thing was good and sometimes…not. He just wanted everyone to leave him the hell alone this time, but it was never going to happen.

It was almost four when they finally finished the assembly of the hutch, with the exception of the staining and the special detailing that Leo would do with the new router bit. Leo said they had to quit for the day because his mom was coming home early from a dental appointment, and he really didn't want her to catch them at it. His plan was to move it into place in the kitchen and arrange the china she'd saved in it. Given that the china was one of the very few things she'd been able to take to his Uncle Bud's brother's house, Priestly knew what that moment was likely to mean to her.

"Cool," was all he said, nodding. "Okay, then. You want help with the staining or the detail?"

"Nah, I can do those tomorrow. And then after it's all done drying you and I can move it into the house on Friday before you go to work. Joyce will be home at about twelve thirty because she and I are taking a long weekend in San Diego, so if you hang around with me for a few minutes you'll be there when she walks in."

Priestly nodded. For a minute there he dared to hope Leo had somehow forgotten that he was supposed to be spying for Trucker, but as he turned to leave the corner of the garage that served as the wood shop, Leo grabbed him by the back of his t-shirt.

"Not so fast, little Kook," he admonished. "I waited patiently all day for you to explain why Trucker's losing sleep this time, and you clammed up. You gotta give me something to take back to him, or I'm gonna lose my standing as the older and wiser dude. And then I'll just be the old dude, and that's no good at all. So, c'mon."

Priestly sighed heavily. "Fine…" Just as he opened his mouth to explain, Leo let go of his shirt and gave him a little push and said,

"No, let's go sit out back with some beers."

Priestly dutifully followed Leo through the kitchen and into the back yard where they sat down at the patio table with Leo's beer of choice, Amber Bock. After a couple swigs, Priestly looked at Leo and said flatly, "I broke up with my girlfriend and discovered that before we broke up, she'd already started seeing someone else." He shrugged. "And it just so happened that the guy is a friend of mine."

"Is? Or was?" Leo asked.

Priestly just met his gaze. "That's the million dollar question," he replied, looking out at the back yard which, not unlike Trucker's, was narrow but deep.

"So," Leo took a long drink, considering the situation. "Are you and this other dude just sort of surface buddies or are you, you know, really tight like me and Truck?"

Priestly stared down at his beer bottle, rubbing what little condensation had managed to form off the label. It was too chilly out for there to be much, so he just rubbed aimlessly at nothing after that. He thought about Leo's question. "Somewhere in between, I guess."

Leo nodded. After a few minutes of silence, Leo asked, "You think maybe the reason you're so mad is less because of the girl and more because your buddy stabbed you in the back?" When Priestly only lifted one shoulder, Leo asked, "And you think maybe the reason that betrayal hit you so hard is because you're still smarting over the stuff that went down with your dad in Latimer?" Before Priestly could react to that, Leo added an observation to the pile: "You've got no place to put all that anger, man, so

Priestly's head shot up in surprise. The quick response he'd opened his mouth to give got stuck in his throat. But the quick burn he felt rising in his chest told him Leo might be right, even though he said nothing. He just stood up, still clutching his beer, and said, "I'll see you Friday."

He went around the side of Leo's house without a backward glance. He was done talking about it, done thinking about it. Now if only he could get his head on board with the plan, he'd be all set.

* * *

_**A/N: if you got more than 1 chapter update notice, I'm sorry. There was a snafu. The mouse slipped and I reposted an older chapter as a new chapter. DOH! So I pulled it and fixed it and...if you got more than one notice, OOPS. Should be maybe 2 or 3 chapters to go. Not entirely sure yet.**_


	63. Wrong Opinion

_Friday, March 2, 2007_

"Jesus," Priestly grunted, easing his corner of the hutch into place near the wall. "Remind me to make the next one out of Balsa," he joked, straightening. "I don't remember the last one being this heavy." Of course, that could be because he'd never lifted it. It had been in the dining room of the house in Latimer as long as he could remember, though.

"Okay," Leo grinned, stroking the side of the hutch with obvious pride. "We done good, huh?"

Priestly nodded. "Now we dust it off and load it up, right?"

"Right. And then your mom gets to take care of it," he joked. "I swear, this thing is already a dust magnet."

The gleam of wood revealed as Priestly eased a dust cloth over the light layer was rich and handsome and fucking perfect. Leo had done an excellent job on the detail and the staining. If it wasn't exactly like the one they'd lost, you could have fooled him. The crinkle of newspaper being gently pulled aside sounded behind him as he ducked down to dust the bottom of the hutch. He'd be damned if there wasn't a lump in his throat, and he didn't have the sentimental attachment to the hutch or the dishes that his mother had. But he did love his mother, and she was going to love it. Being a part of giving something back to her that she'd figured was lost forever, well, that was probably the reason for the lump.

One by one they eased the plates and platters into the hutch's grooved shelves so that they formed a sort of winged display, angling in toward the center from each side. The stemware followed. They cleaned the pieces as they went, Leo talking about the amazing surf he and Trucker had ridden that morning. Priestly was grateful he was out of the spotlight. He just had today and tomorrow to get through and then Tish would be gone and everybody could quit holding their breath and tiptoeing around the grill.

Priestly shook his head with a grin as he realized why Leo had asked him to come over so freaking early. The guy was actually going to iron all the freshly laundered linens that would now be filling the drawers. Ironing, Priestly thought, just to crease them all over again by folding them. Truthfully, he'd forgotten about the linens despite seeing them every Thanksgiving and Christmas he could recall, with the exception of his first couple in Santa Cruz when his mom was back in Latimer. The Irish lace tablecloth, the fine white and green linen napkins, and, oddly, the Christmas tree skirt, all of which got carefully ironed and folded one by one. Not everything that filled the drawers was dining related. He found himself telling Leo what he could recall about each piece. Surprisingly, he could recall more than he ever thought.

Unfortunately, he was so wrapped up in telling Leo about the time he nearly burned the house down trying to roast a marshmallow over the kitchen stove, ruining one of his mother's embroidered dish towels, neither of them heard her come in. They only heard a sharp intake of breath.

Turning, Priestly saw his mother cover her mouth with both hands so that they muffled her words.

"Oh, Leo, oh, Priestly, it's gorgeous!" she half-sobbed, looking from one of them to the other in tearful amazement.

Priestly, feeling terribly guilty that it wasn't the perfect surprise Leo'd intended, dipped his head and said meekly, "Surprise."

His mother laughed and cried both at once. "It looks just like our old cabinet! I wouldn't know it wasn't except for the–Oh, never mind, it's perfect!"

Though he was mostly used to the person his mother had become since moving to Santa Cruz and meeting Leo, Priestly was thrown off again as she launched herself into Leo's arms and kissed him in a way no son should ever have to see his mother kiss anyone. He busied himself with the last of the linens and gently shut the bottom drawer just in time for his mother's hand to come down on his shoulder.

He stood up and walked into her hug, grinning sheepishly as he said, "I'm sorry…we were supposed to be completely done loading it when you got in, but I–"

"Oh, it doesn't matter at all, I love it. Is this what you guys have been doing in the garage lately?"

Priestly nodded, exchanging a look with Leo. The guy was practically glowing. He felt relieved that Leo wasn't pissed at him for ruining the surprise.

His mother just shook her head again as she finally released him. She wiped at her tears again, but they just kept being replaced by a fresh batch. She found her camera and took all sorts of pictures of the new hutch, babbling about having to send some to Glenda. Eventually, she wound down and Leo was able to get a word in edgewise, which he used to happily remind her she still needed to finish packing for their trip down to San Diego. After submitting to a final hug and noisy kiss, Priestly gave his mom a fond, lopsided grin and told them to have fun.

Back upstairs in his apartment, Priestly showered and got ready for his shift. He'd agreed to work a bit earlier than usual because Piper was going to be late. One more day, and then Tish would be gone. Maybe everyone would quit tiptoeing around him and just start acting normal again.

As he always did, Priestly stopped to check the weather on the internet, his own little OCD habit. Continued cool weather, but warmer than it had been for the previous week. Cool. And no rain in the forecast, which meant February had taken its routinely dreary weather with it. He didn't even think about what he was doing, just went through the motions and checked his email on autopilot.

_**March 1**_

_** Priestly…**_

_** I am sooo counting the days until next Friday when Spring break starts. I'll be on a red eye to California. Care to meet up for some Joop's? I know it is still sort of chilly there, at least by Santa Cruz standards, but I don't care. It is all part of my desperate rush to get to graduation so I can come home for good. **_

_**80 days to go, **_

_** Jude**_

Priestly grinned. Her countdown cracked him up. On a whim, he searched for countdown tickers and found a website that let you make your own. He used a surfing theme and called it "Goin' Back to Cali". He pasted it into the footnote of his reply.

_**March 2**_

_** Jude,**_

_** Yeah, I could go for some butter rum. Look me up when you get back. **_

_** Priestly**_

_**Goin' Back to Cali in [80] days**_

He grinned again at the little surfer dude on the waves, knowing Jude would like it. He'd thought about mentioning it was Tish's last day, but he'd told her to stay out of it and not mention Mike, and since Tish was sort of part of that whole package, he left it alone.

Tish, however, clearly had no intention of leaving it alone. Though he braced himself, when he walked into the grill, Mike was there, right at the front counter, talking to someone on his cell phone. Work related, by the sound of it.

"Yeah, that's a great idea. Check the zoning again and go over the OSHA standards and give the feedback on that to Roger. Ok. I'll talk to you later," Mike said, glancing up as he ended his call. His face registered nothing when he saw Priestly.

Priestly, on the other hand, rolled his eyes but held his tongue. _Just let it go, _he told himself. _He's probably just here for a sandwich. He's probably got to go to some important meeting in his shiny car. _ His thoughts surprised him. The jealousy they implied unnerved him. He didn't want to be Mike, didn't need to work some fat salary job in an office building or drive something slick and black and…new. So why did he feel like he'd just swallowed the tartest lemon on the planet?

If Mike noticed the eye roll, he ignored it. "Hey, man," he greeted casually.

Priestly just gave him a flat look before continuing to the back room. He didn't allow Tish or Mike to change his routine. He stopped by Lucille's table to scratch Bam Bam. If he wasn't his usual boisterous self lately, well, Lucille never commented on it. Mr. Julius gave him a polite nod which he returned. After ducking into the back room to wash up, Priestly circulated back out front. Mel Shipley kept his eyes on his puzzle as usual when Priestly asked Mel if he needed anything. Mel's voice was absent as he murmured one of his typical requests,

"Coffee, no sugar. One cream."

Priestly grinned. He knew that. He nearly just brought the cup out but that would be the one time Mel would ask for lemonade or tea instead.

Though he tried to ignore Mike and Tish, he could all but feel their eyes tracking him through the grill, burning holes in his back. He wouldn't be surprised if his fucking t-shirt had actual holes in it when he pulled it off that night. Finally, after dropping Mel's coffee off at his table, he turned and gave them both an irritated look.

"What?" he finally asked, glaring at them accusingly. "Do I have toilet paper hanging out of my pants?"

Both of them played innocent, saying nothing, just blinking at him. He rolled his eyes again and grabbed the spatula, ignoring Jen's sympathetic look as he took a couple slips with the latest internet orders from her, grateful to have something to focus on. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he was just imagining that Tish and Mike gave enough of a shit about him to keep giving him their stupid loaded looks. Maybe the unrelenting slow burn of anger had him losing touch with reality. He felt like he was starting to be okay again, and two seconds in the grill with Mike and Tish knocked it all down and proved that no, he was still pissed off and had nowhere to put it.

Priestly forced his focus on the meat sizzling on the grill. It took a lot of energy to intentionally ignore people, and he was tired of it. He was relieved that Tish would be gone even though getting to that moment was apparently going to feel like the longest day of his entire life. Trucker sauntered in the back door a few minutes later and dropped a hand on his shoulder as he passed. Priestly just bobbed his head in reply.

Why the hell wouldn't Mike just leave already? Priestly sighed inwardly as he wrapped the round of sandwiches, glancing out at the front of the house at a couple leaving. Unfortunately, Tish moved out toward the table, ruining his chance to escape. Trucker somehow snuck up on him, appearing at his elbow out of nowhere, making him jump.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Trucker asked, gesturing at the back room.

Priestly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried not to detonate. He just stomped silently into the back, barely giving Trucker a chance to come through the door before he quietly but vehemently cursed.

"Fuck, why can't everybody just leave me alone? I don't want to talk about it. It is what it is, it isn't going to change, and if everybody could just stop with the fucking looks and the fucking…I don't know, just stop, maybe I could–″

Trucker, faintly amused but also drawn with worry at the same time, stopped him by shoving him into the walk in. "Man, you need to chill out," he joked.

It was the opposite of what Priestly expected, which was probably why he suddenly burst out laughing, which was the last thing he'd felt like doing just seconds ago and the last thing he would have expected himself to do. But the absurdity of Trucker's pun hit him just right. Trucker burst into a silly grin, himself, and said, "Better. And if you'd let me open my mouth first before jumping off to all sorts of crazy conclusions, I'd get the chance to say I need you to come to dinner at my place tomorrow night because I've got something sort of big I want to discuss with you."

Priestly immediately sobered. "Something big? You okay?"

Trucker blinked at him and chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, man, I don't mean big like that. Why did you jump there? Do I look sick or something?" Trucker gave him a bemused look and slapped his shoulder.

Priestly shrugged helplessly. "Nah, man, it's just, I don't know, why the seriousness? You had to drag me back here to ask me over for dinner?"

"Oh," Trucker's face lit with understanding. "No, that was because I actually did want to talk to you about the whole Tish thing, but after you bit my head off, I decided against it."

Priestly shook his head and chuckled, this time with Trucker to accompany him. Somehow, like always, Trucker's odd approach disarmed him and he found himself shrugging again, looking at his boots and offering, "I just hoped she'd work her last day and get the hell out and not bring him in here."

Trucker nodded. His next words were careful. "You're going to have to face them sometime, Priestly. Might as well be today. You were expecting it to be shitty anyway, right?"

Priestly caught Trucker's eyes and realized it was true, and he was an idiot if he thought things might go differently. He nodded. "I guess."

"So, why don't you guys take a minute and walk over to the plaza or something and just get it over with so you can come back in and not be all knotted up and ready to jump down anyone's throat?"

It was a reasonable suggestion, and Priestly knew he owed Trucker enough that he should take the guy's advice. But the thought of following through on Trucker's suggestion made acid rise in his throat. "I don't see the point," he said, looking past Trucker to the various boxes of meats and other sandwich fixings that lined the shelves of the walk in. He was starting to get goosebumps from the cold. He suddenly noticed a wrinkled dish towel hanging from the inside handle of the walk in. He grabbed it and started fiddling with it absently. "It's not like I'm going to walk away with the warm fuzzies, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," Trucker acknowledged, scratching the side of his head absently. "It was just a suggestion. I mean, what you're doing now isn't working, so maybe you need to stir things up." Priestly looked at him. Apparently something in his expression amused Trucker. "I don't mean like that," Trucker amended, grabbing the clipboard he kept the inventory on. "I just meant, you know, that it's like the old saying goes. Keep doing what you always do, you'll keep getting what you always get. Or something like that."

Priestly grinned absently, already trying to imagine the kind of effort it would take to go strolling around with Mike and Tish to hash things out the way Trucker suggested. Firstly, he didn't like the idea of two against one. Secondly, he knew he was being an ass about it. Tish and Mike made a lot more sense than he and Tish had, for all the reasons he'd already thought about and probably a couple thousand no one had stumbled on yet. Given the rightness of the match, Priestly knew it shouldn't matter so much that they'd started working on that match before he and Tish broke up. What difference did it make now? Big whoop. Heknew it. But somehow, like many things in life, knowing and feeling are not the same thing. He _knew_ things were exactly the way they should be, but he _felt _like shit, anyway. Maybe Trucker was right. Maybe talking to them would turn the tide on his anger.

Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, Priestly burst into the grill area and pointed at Tish, who looked up at him from her task of refilling the salt and pepper shakers for the tables.

"You," he pointed at her, "and you," he added, pointing at Mike, who was at one of the booths with a sandwich, "outside. Now."

He didn't wait to see if they would follow. He knew they'd be too curious not to. He stalked around the backside of the building where, ironically, not all that long ago, he'd tried to defend Tish's honor and ended up getting sucker punched for his trouble. Meeting their expectant gazes threw him off for a few seconds. He felt stupid after all that build up, like he needed to say something really spectacular after pulling them out of the grill the way he had.

"So, what?" Mike finally asked, holding out his arms a little. "You ready to get over this?"

Priestly gave him what he hoped was a murderous look. "I was going to ask you two the same question," he admitted. Turning to Tish, he said accusingly, "You keep throwing all these loaded looks all over the grill, you and Jen and Piper. And you," he said to Mike, pointing at him now. In doing so, he realized he was still carrying the dish towel. "You couldn't do me the small favor of just staying the hell away until Tish finished work today?"

Mike looked abashed. His voice dropped, and he stopped meeting Priestly's eyes. "I'm sorry, man, but there's a reason I'm here. It's not just to piss you off."

Priestly glanced at Tish. Hugging herself protectively as she always seemed to be doing lately, she dropped her gaze, too. Neither of them seemed able to look him in the eye all of a sudden. "What?" he asked. "How much worse can this get? I mean, were you sleeping with her before I started dating her, or what?"

Mike rolled his eyes. It wasn't like him to be sarcastic, and the gesture only pissed Priestly off more. Mike opened his mouth to reply and Tish blurted,

"I think I might be pregnant."

Priestly exhaled as forcefully as if Mike had just sunk his fist deep into his solar plexus and tossed the dish towel over his shoulder, surprised when his jaw didn't scrape against the sidewalk. "Fuck," he said, when he could manage any kind of words at all. He shook his head. Even though he felt like a bastard as the words left his mouth, he couldn't stop them. "Well, congratulations. What's next? Wedding bells?"

Now it was Mike's turn to look murderous. "Oh, fuck you, too, man!" he spat, edging in close to Priestly like he wanted to take a swing.

"Priestly," Tish said with a patience and lack of venom that chilled him to the bone, "you're not understanding this." She brushed his arm, her face going red in a way he'd never seen before. "If I am," she said slowly, looking at the floor as her voice died in her throat. She cleared it and apparently found the courage to look him in the eye, "I don't…" She sucked in a breath and tried again. "I don't know which of you…" she trailed off.

Her voice fading took all of the blood in his body with it. Dizzy, he stumbled a little and put his palm against the brick wall, grateful for things he'd never been consciously grateful for before. Like gravity. And sturdy brick walls capable of holding people up when they might otherwise fall on their asses.

"Whoa." It was all he could manage.

"Yeah," Tish agreed. "Whoa."

After a long silence, he asked, "So…what next? Have you taken a test?"

She shook her head. "I wanted to talk to you first."

He felt nearly hysterical laughter bubbling up and tried to chase it and catch it before it escaped in a sick, sarcastic snort. Too late. "Fuck, Tish, why? Why not at least find out first and save us all this fucking ridiculous, awkward conversation?!" Priestly shook his head and shoved off the wall, wheeling around to look her dead in the eye.

Mike shoved him back against the wall. "Don't talk to her like that. She's scared to death."

"Yeah, well, get in line," he snapped back, rubbing his forehead where a stabbing pain had begun.

Tish looked wounded. "I just thought it was the right thing to do," she said miserably, clutching her middle as if it would save her from a forty story drop.

"What next?" Priestly repeated.

"I guess I take a test," Tish nodded. "And if…" she sucked in another breath, "And if it's positive, there's a test we can do late in the first trimester."

Priestly took a minute to just breathe. Jesus. He'd thought he was going to be the one in control of the conversation. Her words suddenly registered and his eyes narrowed. "Been studying up on this shit? How long have you suspected something?"

Tish and Mike exchanged a guilty look.

Priestly held up his hand. "Forget it. It doesn't matter. Whatever."

Mike shook his head. "No, man, not whatever," he said. "We just didn't want to freak you out if it turned out to be nothing, so–"

"And yet here you are, dropping this shit on me when you haven't even taken a test yet."

Mike drew himself up again, edging into Priestly, giving him a dark look Priestly would never have thought easygoing Mike capable of. "Well, don't worry. I'll take care of Tish. Pretend we didn't have this conversation."

Priestly's eyes narrowed at those words. "What are you saying, Mike?" Priestly edged back, readying himself for blows. He felt like he was looking at a stranger, felt like someone had ripped him down the center of his chest. There was a thick yet paradoxically hollow feeling there as he saw derision in Mike's face. "You think I can't take care of things if she's pregnant and it's mine?"

Mike gave a little shrug. "I'm saying if you won't, I will."

He felt sucker punched all over again. When he could breathe without the weird redness clouding his vision, he heard himself as if listening to a playback of his own voice, as if the words came not from his own mouth but from somewhere outside. "Don't you ever assume shit like that about me. I don't walk away from my responsibilities." He shook his head, raw with pain at what he saw in both of their faces. Pity. Assumption. Solidarity, with him as the odd man out. It was all over their faces that they thought he'd walk away, want nothing to do with his kid. Like he'd just leave Tish out there to raise it by herself. He shook his head, backing away from them quickly as if to keep them from seeing his exposed, vulnerable heart as it struggled to beat there on his sleeve. "Fuck you both," he choked. Pointing accusingly at them as he walked backward not toward the grill but toward the plaza Trucker suggested they walk to, he rasped, "Take the fucking test and then you fucking call me."

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry for the delays in posting. Holiday craziness. Hope to get back to quicker posts as this wraps up. Thanks for reading!**_


	64. It Takes a Man

_Friday, March 2, 2007_

Priestly sank down on a bench in the plaza where, ironically, not all that long ago, he'd taken out his frustration with Jen on Tish because she was an available target. He remembered their conversation that day, how he'd chewed her out for liking the wrapping paper better than what was inside. He really wished he'd just left his wrapping paper alone. Maybe if he had, he'd have remained nothing more in her eyes than the grill's version of a class clown and he–they–wouldn't be in this mess.

Was it even freaking possible to suspect pregnancy so soon? As soon as the thought entered his mind, Priestly felt like an idiot. Of course it was possible. All it took was a girl not getting her period to start wondering. His heart thudded in his chest as he tried to count the days. Mike and Tish met on February 15th. He didn't know and didn't particularly want to know how quickly after that they fell into bed with one another. And now it was March 2, 2007. Exactly sixteen days since Mike and Tish met.

He tried to ignore what it meant. Without wanting to, he remembered the last time he'd had sex with Tish. The day before Valentine's day…which he remembered because Valentine's day was when the unraveling of their relationship, if you could stretch so far as to call it that, really picked up speed. Everything seemed fine that night. Moods were high and they were getting along just fine, obviously. Priestly sighed. So eighteen days since he and Tish had sex, and sixteen days (or less) for Mike and Tish.

Priestly moaned into his hands, slumped forward on the bench with his elbows on his knees. Why the fuck did she tell him now, before she even took a test? But then he recalled the raw feeling of betrayal that sliced through him as he looked at them in their solidarity…the united front that felt so very united against _him_ and figured he had his answer. Even so, it felt a little cruel that Tish was putting this in front of him before she'd even bothered to pee on a stick. Two minutes for an answer. She couldn't wait that long? It didn't matter now if the answer was yes or no. It was out there. He couldn't unknow it. It felt like they were flaunting their…affair. Boldly. Callously.

He didn't know exactly how he was going to walk back into the grill and finish out the day with her, especially with the sick feeling he had that everyone knew and had known what he didn't. Maybe not Trucker, but the girls. They'd become pretty good friends, always gossiping and giggling and having inside jokes that he and Trucker just rolled their eyes over in that, "yeah, we don't get it, we're guys" sort of way. But now he felt like the three of them–Piper, Jen, and Tish–were all part of this huge secret club and he wasn't, and he felt like a chump.

He wished he could go in the back door quietly and without fuss. Almost without anyone noticing, though that wasn't truly possible. But Trucker started locking the door after that time when he strolled back there and found a dude casing the place, so Priestly had to suck it up and steel himself and go in through the front as if everything was just fucking peachy.

He felt sick as he mechanically made sandwiches and ladled soups, aware of the girls around him. He was never more grateful than at that moment that they'd worked together long enough to have learned each other's habits. Piper liked to fill drink orders and package up any takeout orders. Jen, of course, manned the laptop but she also stretched to the cold station and soups if they were busy. Tish liked working the register and the front, thank God. He felt more than saw Jen and Piper around him and distinctly noticed Tish's absence. She was keeping very firmly to the front. Still, he was fully aware of everything going on around him, and he heard Tish quietly tell Jen she was going down to the corner for lunch and asking if she wanted her to bring anything back.

They were slow, so he passed Trucker on the way to the door, muttering, "I'll be back in a few minutes…"

Outside, he told Tish to wait. She froze but didn't turn to look at him. She felt into step with him, however, and she waited for him to speak.

"Why do you think you're pregnant?" He asked without preamble. Then, to ensure he didn't sound like a complete moron, he added another question. "Are you late?"

Now she gave him a wary look as she stopped just past Senfuku, the sushi place next door to the grill. "No," she admitted carefully. "I'm not supposed to start until next Monday." She shifted her weight, unable to stand still. "When I was a kid, my mother told me and my sister that she got pregnant exactly three times, and she knew it every time before she even took a test. It was the only three times she ever felt that way, and each time she was confirmed pregnant. Once with me, once with my sister, and once with a baby she miscarried." She shook her head. "I know it sounds weird, but I woke up in the middle of the night the other night and just freaked out because I'm having that feeling, too. That…knowing."

"Weird," he said softly.

"Yeah," she agreed, equally softly. But then she let out a nearly hysterical laugh. "God, I just hope I'm imagining this. I never believed my mother, and I don't think Rowena did, either, until she got pregnant and it happened to her."

"Your sister?" Priestly asked, knowing the name was familiar.

Tish nodded. "She has two kids." Her face whiter than he'd ever imagined she was capable of, she nearly whispered, "Both times."

Seeing her so rattled, Priestly felt bad. The anger was still there, but it suddenly felt like an anvil of sympathy just landed right on top of it. Without thinking about it, he reached out and took her hands. They were ice cold. That was probably why she let him rub them with his own for a few moments before pulling away and tucking them in the pockets of her hoodie, instead.

"I'm going to take a test after work today. But I'm just telling you…it's going to be positive. I know it." She sucked in a breath, her face crumpling a little. "Priestly, I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry." Her voice was small, so unlike the bold, brazen, seemingly fearless Tish he knew. Fear seized his chest and then settled somewhere around his navel. Her voice broke a little as she added , "God, I am so scared. I mean, I want to have kids _someday. _But not now. I'm not ready."

Priestly stared across the street at the pizza place that was Tish's choice for the day. He didn't know how to respond to that. It's not like it was her fault alone. She didn't impregnate herself, after all. At a loss, he finally just met her eyes and told her that. One corner of her mouth quirked up a little. Not knowing what else to say or do, he nodded. "Call me. Text me. Whatever. Midnight, three in the morning, it doesn't matter."

She nodded, too. "I will."

"I gotta get back to the shop. I told Trucker it would only be a couple minutes." His voice was flat. He was proud of that, of the fact that it didn't rat him out for being completely terrified. Her eerily calm matter-of-factness had him scared half out of his mind. What she said sounded crazy, but he'd read stuff like that before about women's intuition or whatever. That knowing. He had no reason to doubt her. She seemed pretty sure of it. Maybe it was better that he tried to wrap his head around it, too, in case it became an absolutely concrete reality.

She nodded again. He wondered if she could feel him watching her cross the street to the pizza place before he could make his feet move.

* * *

_March 2, 2007_

After Tish came back still looking sheet white but now with a faint green tinge around her mouth, Trucker cut her loose early, giving her a long last hug goodbye. Priestly watched Piper and Jen do the same and then probably shocked the shit out of them by stepping up solemnly and saying lightly,

"Ah, what the hell, for old time's sake."

Tish let him hug her, and he felt her tremble. Whether she was cold or scared or what, he didn't know. But her expression and her eyes made it perfectly clear. She was fucking terrified. And maybe he should be insulted that part of her terror was probably that she didn't want him for the father of her kid. Or a likely candidate, anyway. But at least they had the fear in common. He remembered her tearful admission that she wasn't ready to be a parent. He wasn't, either. But there it was. Or might be.

Fuck.

"Call me," he whispered, letting her go.

She nodded at him but said nothing. Mike's car eased up to the curb. Priestly wondered how he got away from work so easily, being the new guy. He tried to ignore the sizzle of irritation as he remembered Mike's inference that he would just walk away from Tish, that he would step in and be there for her if Priestly wouldn't. It burned.

Tish may have left, but she was still in the grill as far as he was concerned. The day dragged on impossibly, especially since he started to wonder whether she'd take the test while he was still on the clock. He wasn't sure he could stand much more waiting, but he also wasn't sure he wanted that phone call to come in right there in the grill.

Priestly was grateful when a bunch of firemen filtered in at about seven that night. Trucker looked up from the back booth and called,

"Hey, guys. Where's the fire?"

One of them shook his head, smirking a little at Trucker's pun. "Cliffs at Voltaire," he sighed, naming a new ritzy development on the beach up north. "Second one in the last two weeks."

Trucker stood up and gestured at the guys. "C'mon to the back. I've got a deep sink you can wash up at."

Priestly watched them file after him in their dark blue t-shirts and yellow fire pants, their boots clomping loudly on the tiles. After that last big fire, word got around that Trucker took care of firemen, so he had to stop the totally free subs and scale it back to a two for one deal. Still, the guys appreciated it. It didn't seem to turn any of them away, either. Any firemen in uniform qualified. Luckily, the washing up took a little bit of time and he was able to keep ahead of the flood of orders since they didn't all come in at once.

As soon as the guys were seated and most of them had been served, Priestly heard Trucker asking more questions.

"So, what? Is it arson? Some protest or another?"

"Looks that way," one of them nodded. "They've been hitting Scotts Valley, Capitola, and Aptos, too. All new builds."

"All of them residential?" Trucker asked.

"No. The first couple were business condos and one of them was a strip mall that was going up," a different guy replied.

"But definitely protesters. Environmentalists, most likely. The C&O guys keep finding little love notes in different places, like inside the junction box or down on the stem walls. Stuff that doesn't burn as quick."

Trucker frowned. "Don't they see the irony of all the pollution they're putting out there when these places burn up?"

"Apparently not," Priestly snorted as he brought the last couple orders to the table. "Refills?" he asked, holding out a pitcher of water. The fire guys seldom ordered anything else to drink. Rehydration and all that. After the first two trips to refill the pitcher, Priestly filled three pitchers and put them down on the two tables.

"Everybody's just wondering what's next. Who's next," one of the firemen was saying.

"I hear Gleeson Development is going to add security to their sites. I bet a lot of developers will be copycatting that move soon."

Priestly headed back to the grill as they continued to discuss the fires with Trucker. He listened absently to the conversation, one part of his mind paying attention and the other part dedicated to freaking about Tish while at the same time trying not to freak. Every minute that passed filled him with more dread. Every beat of his heart drummed out the words: _I'm. Not. Ready. I'm. Not. Ready. _Having heard Tish acknowledge she was no more ready to be a mother than he was a father didn't comfort him in the slightest.

He was 23 years old, going on 24 in May. People younger than him had babies all the time and look where it usually got them. A life of struggle. Not always, of course. But more often than not. Priestly had always pictured himself as the older father type. Maybe not as old as his father. Not so old that you completely lost touch with what it was like to be young. But older. Smarter. After he had some time to figure things out. Not while he was living in a one bedroom apartment over Leo's garage and usually cash strapped.

He went through the motions at the grill and the cold station, filling orders with little need for full attention. The reward for steady work for the last four years, he guessed. You could nearly do it blindfolded. Maybe that was a little boring sometimes, but at the moment Priestly was glad for it. Especially if he might have another person to help take care of in the near future.

The ball of ice that had frozen his guts seemed to swell up into his throat. He tried to put more focus on the fire talk, but as he turned 100% of his attention there, he realized the guys were just finishing up, ready to settle their bill.

"Are you okay, Priestly?"

He turned his eyes to Jen, who was looking at him with a dubious, anxious expression.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm good."

"Are you sure? You're sort of pale."

"Yeah," he repeated, hoping she'd buy the lie. "I'm fine."

"I hope you're not coming down with whatever Tish caught."

He blinked. Wait. What? She didn't know? His heart hammering, he cocked his head at her, hoping his question came across much more lightly than he felt capable of. "Tish say anything to you these last few days about anything bothering her?"

Jen looked wary but shook her head. "No. Why?"

He shrugged. Had she really not said anything to Jen and Piper? He frowned as he turned back to the grill with the two new internet orders Jen handed him. He didn't know what to make of that. He was pretty sure she had, given the tiptoeing everyone did around him lately. Of course, he was taking quite a leap, assuming Tish's greenish hue was, well, morning sickness. Already. He wondered if that was even likely. Everything he knew about pregnancy would just barely cover the surface of a dime. He checked his phone. Still on, still charged. Not ringing.

After closing, Jen and Priestly had their usual rock-paper-scissors shootout. He lost. Jen, being her usual self, wandered over to help him finish the tables after she topped off the salt and pepper shakers and refilled the napkin dispensers. She glanced over at him.

"Priestly, Jeff and I are going to go to see a band that's playing at Moe's. Do you want to come along?"

He looked up at her. He gave it some real consideration because he liked Moe's and he hadn't spent any time with Jeff and Jen since he and Tish caught a movie with them one night in December. He liked Jeff, who was a very quiet, very mellow guy but also surprisingly funny on the rare occasion that you could actually get him talking. From what Priestly could tell, Fuzzy watched and listened to everything around him, but he seemed to prefer letting other people command attention. Not that he wouldn't talk or didn't jump in with his own comments in a conversation. He generally had great stories, when he told them. But he seemed to prefer to leave the spotlight to others. Priestly often wondered whether he and Jen ever talked at all, given that they shared the anti-spotlight thing in common. Then he'd remember how they met: chatting online. So of course they had to like talking to each other.

"Priestly?" Jen asked again.

He blinked. "Yeah, sorry. I don't know, Jen. I'm not really feeling it."

"Are you feeling sick? You still look pale."

He grinned at her halfheartedly. "Nah. I feel fine, there's just some…shit going on. I'm not good company."

"Some shit?" she tipped her head at him curiously. "Is this about Tish? You asked me earlier if she's said anything about something bothering her. Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Nope," he replied, though he desperately wanted to ask Jen if Tish mentioned thinking she was pregnant. But he thought Jen would acknowledge something like that if Tish had. The fact that Tish apparently hadn't talked about it with Piper and Jen shocked him. Though they'd all worked well together, joking their way through the work days, he'd sometimes had the distinct feeling of being the outsider, what with the way the girls gossiped and chattered amongst themselves. Some of that, of course, was because the rest of them tended to work the early part of the day together. He came on later, after they'd already been working for several hours. Sometimes he got a little paranoid wondering if they ever sat around discussing _him_. He hoped not. And he sure as shit hoped they'd never asked Tish for his "scores".

He glanced up again to see Jen stalled, her cleaning rag not moving, just watching him. "What?" he asked, straightening as he finished cleaning the glass top of the last table.

Jen shook her head a little. "I guess I just hope you remember that you and I are still friends. I mean, Tish and I were really just more…work friends. You can talk to me, and it won't go back to Tish. You know, we don't hang out outside of work or anything. Now that she's not working here anymore, I don't think I'll even see her. Piper might. They sometimes went to the same parties."

"You went to Morro Bay together," he pointed out.

Jen shook her head. "That's different. Tish wanted to make sure I wasn't going off to meet an axe murderer. Plus she wanted to check out Jeff and see what he looked like. That was the only time we ever did anything outside the grill. Piper and I sit on the beach and talk sometimes, but we don't really do much other than that."

Priestly wandered to the back room with her and they stowed their respective cleaning products and untied their aprons. "You and I were friends before Tish ever got hired," he said. "No reason for that to change, is there?"

One corner of her mouth lifted. She almost seemed relieved. He realized then that maybe she wasn't so much trying to reassure him that she was still there as get his reassurance that Tish's departure didn't mean the end of everything. "I didn't want you to feel like, you know, it was everybody versus you."

Funny. That's exactly how he was feeling. He felt a little ashamed of himself for it, for being so closed down at the grill. But then, in his defense, Tish had been there up until that afternoon. It wasn't like he could make it the topic of the day or anything. Not that he would now, either. Just because she wasn't working there didn't mean their private shit should be discussed with the regulars.

He looked down at Jen. "We're good, Jen."

She smiled with her entire mouth this time instead of just the one side. "Good. Are you sure you won't come out with us?"

He nodded. "I'm not feeling it tonight. Sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be sorry. Just promise you'll call me if you want to talk about whatever it is."

He nodded again and fished his keys out of his pocket. Trucker let them out the back since he was still finishing up with the dishes. Priestly walked with Jen to her car, thinking of Jude and of how many times he hadn't specifically watched for Jen to get in her car and how Piper always rode her bike alone in the dark. After Jude, he started making a point to see Jen off okay. He offered Piper a ride any time she worked close, which wasn't often. But suddenly the world seemed even more dangerous. Or maybe he was just more afraid.

Priestly was home for an hour, nearly pacing his apartment, wondering whether or not he should call Tish when the text came through.

_It's positive. Pregnant._


	65. Chapter 65

_March 3, 2007 _

Priestly woke up still feeling the lump in his throat, the one that settled there at Tish's text. _It's positive. Pregnant._

He got out of bed slowly, feeling more like an old man that day than his age. He glanced at the laptop on the desk, wanting to email Jude. But he felt like he couldn't since it involved Mike and it wasn't fair to start dumping on her about shit that involved him when she wanted to stay neutral. He thought bitterly about the fact that Mike would probably tell her, anyway. He wondered how that would make Jude feel, knowing he might be about to have a baby with another girl.

Fuck.

He flipped open the laptop and wrote her a short email before he could change his mind.

_**3.3.07**_

_**Jude…**_

_** This is a fucked up mess. I don't know how else to say it but just say it. Tish thinks she is pregnant. She's got a positive home test. She doesn't know whether it's me or Mike. I didn't want to mention it because it involves Mike, but I didn't want to not mention it, because this is big. **_

_** I'm going to tell Tish to get it confirmed with a blood test. But if she is, we won't be able to find out the paternity until she's about 3 months.**_

_** Jesus, Jude. I don't know what to say. This wasn't in the plan. Tish isn't ready. I'm not ready. I don't know how Mike feels, and it isn't my business, anyway. I feel like I should be telling you I'm sorry. **_

_** If you don't want to hear anything else about this, I get it. I know you don't want to be in the middle, but I felt like not telling you would be weird. Worse somehow.**_

_**Priestly**_

_**Goin' Back to Cali in [78] days**_

By the time his shift started, he wondered if maybe he wasn't, in fact, getting sick. His body ached. Nothing else seemed amiss, however, so he just tied his apron, washed up, and got to work at the grill alongside Trucker, who'd put their help wanted sign back in the window the day before.

He felt like he was just going through the motions. Mostly he thought of Jude, wondering if she was going to respond to his email. He felt like he'd let her down somehow, though he didn't really understand that feeling. They weren't going out anymore. He was free to date Tish and to sleep with her. None of it was Jude's business, really. Yet he found himself feeling guilty as though he'd done something wrong. Of course, it could just be that he'd been so close to Jude, so committed to her. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to meet a girl and not silently compare her to Jude. He'd done it with Lainey, and he'd done it with Tish, though both times he'd known it was a bad idea.

Maybe it was time to admit to himself that maybe he'd never really gotten over Jude in the first place. Except that now, admitting that, he felt worse than before. Because now he was quite probably going to have a baby with another girl, one he also still had some level of feelings for, even if it wasn't quite love.

Jesus. He sighed and flipped the meat orders and wondered just how the hell he was going to support a kid when he still sometimes ran out of money before he ran out of month. The rent was always paid, and the utilities, too. Car insurance. Gas…though he sometimes ran on fumes and often chose to take the bus to Moe's or Mojo's when the needle strayed too close to "E" or when he wanted to have more than one drink. He only went on the nights he knew they had specials. More than once his Visa card's collections department had called to very pleasantly remind him that the due date on his bill wasn't a suggestion but a demand. He'd once spent an entire month washing his hair with the sliver of a bar of soap squished into an old shampoo bottle he'd added water to, and he had a permanent stash of emergency Ramen in his cupboard. Several times when Trucker packed up the leftover soup for Robby or whatever other hungry person might wander by the grill, Priestly wished he could take it home, himself. He didn't, of course, but he'd wanted to.

For a long time now he'd considered trying to find a second job. Now it looked like he'd really have to. And school… He sighed wistfully. He was going to have to forget about signing up for the summer semester. The money he'd been putting aside for it would have to go for Tish, to help her out with her own bills. He thought maybe he should talk to her, convince her to ask Trucker to hire her back. Fuck the tension. She needed a job. He needed her to have a job.

So caught up was Priestly in his increasingly dire circumstances, he was a little startled when Trucker appeared at his shoulder and asked,

"You still coming by tonight for dinner?"

Shit. He forgot all about Trucker's dinner, about whatever it was Trucker wanted to talk about. His head, which had ached all day, now throbbed. "You know, man, can I take a rain check? Maybe next week?"

"Sure," Trucker said easily, giving his shoulder and easy slap. As he moved past Priestly to go into the back, he asked just as easily, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he lied, feeling the lump in his throat grow larger. "I've just got a lot of homework this weekend. Junk I put off too long and now I'm a little behind." He hated to lie to Trucker, but he wasn't ready to explain yet. Not until a doctor confirmed it, and then he'd have to offer to just work doubles for the foreseeable future. If he did that, the paycheck and the tips might be good enough to allow him to just have the one job.

By the time his shift ended, he knew he was coming down with something. His body still ached, and he was getting that raw feeling in his throat that signaled a cold. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he stopped by a pharmacy for some Zicam and a container of chicken noodle soup. By the time he got home, he knew he was running a fever because he was freezing.

Priestly ate the soup first because he knew the Zicam would kill his taste buds for a few hours. He was listlessly watching some random movie on TV, the empty soup bowl balanced on his knee when his phone rang. Even though everyone who knew him knew he was up late, usually no one called after about eleven. It was just after midnight. He glanced at the display. _Jude._ He winced, remembering his email.

Rising to carry the bowl to the sink, he wondered whether or not to answer. He wondered how she was taking the news. Ultimately, that's why he answered the phone. He didn't think he could stand the suspense.

"Hello?"

There was no answer at first. He glanced at the display again, but it didn't indicate a dropped call, so he waited wordlessly, afraid if he said her name she would disappear.

"Priestly?"

"Hey, Jude," he joked weakly, because he was terrified of what might be coming next. He still felt like he'd done something wrong…like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, only much, much worse. More like a kid caught with a gun at school. He eased down on the futon and pulled an old patchwork quilt his mother had given him over his body.

"I got your email," she said.

He felt hope rise in his chest at the sympathetic tones in her voice. "Yeah. That's…"

"I'm so mad at Mike right now I could throttle him!" she cried. "Priestly, seriously, that's not the Mike I know."

"That's not what I was trying to do, Jude. I just wanted you to know," he protested.

"I know," she replied quietly. "I'm mad at him all on my own. It's exactly what you said it was….messed up. And it wasn't something I wanted to write an email about. I wanted to call you and tell you that."

He didn't know what to say.

"You don't owe me any apologies, Priestly," she said after a moment of silence. Her voice held a sad note.

He didn't know how to respond to that, either.

"You still there?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he said, closing his eyes and pulling the quilt up over his shoulders, still freezing. "Sorry. I just don't know what to say."

"Are you ok? You sound like you're sick or something."

He sighed. "I think I'm trying to catch something."

"I thought you sounded sort of stuffed up. Zinc and chicken soup," she said.

He grinned into the phone. "Close. Zicam and chicken soup."

"Good enough."

"How are you doing out there?" he asked, knowing he'd probably get an earful about how miserable she was, which he realized he wouldn't mind. He'd rather focus on her problems than his own. He was glad she called. Glad she wasn't pissed off.

She didn't disappoint. She complained about her classes, the freezing weather, and the fact that even in her new dorm, Erdman, she was still somewhat of a social pariah though it was to a lesser extent.

"Jude, what went down out there?" he asked. "Your emails just kept saying it was a long story. I want the story."

"Another time," she replied, an edge to her voice.

"C'mon. Not even for a dying man?"

She laughed. "You're not dying."

"I feel like shit. Isn't that good enough?" he joked.

"Seriously, Priestly, I'll tell you, but it's really something I feel weird talking about on the phone."

He wondered what was so bad that you wouldn't talk about it over the phone. If it was possible to be any colder than he already was, he was. He felt like this blood turned to ice. "Jude," he said as calmly as he could, "did he…?"

She sighed. "Priestly, seriously, this is not a good way to have this conversation."

"Fuck," he said, assuming the worst. He did. That motherfucker raped her. That's where Priestly was going, what he was assuming. "He did, didn't he?" He was already wondering what the guy's full name was and how to find him and beat the ever living shit out of him when Jude said,

"No, he didn't. At least I don't think he did. I think I know what you're thinking, and if it is, the answer is no. It wasn't anything sexual. At least not like that kind of sexual." She seemed to realize instead of calming him down she was only making him crazier.

"So what happened, then?" he asked drowsily but still fully tuned in to her voice.

She sighed again. "You did that on purpose," she accused. "Now I can't just not tell you."

He chuckled. "No, but if it worked, that's awesome."

She breathed a laugh through the phone. He could almost see her rolling her eyes at him. "Okay, so when I got back to school after you and I…well, after we argued, I guess…When I got back to school he wanted to start something up with me. He kept trying to make it so we were alone together and I kept avoiding it. So he started getting nasty about it. He cornered me a couple of times and put his hands on me, but nothing major. So–″

"What do you mean nothing major?!" he protested. "That's major!"

"Okay, so yeah, it's a big deal, but it wasn't all the way is what I mean," she acknowledged. "The next thing I know people are looking at me funny in the halls at the dorm and the whispering and talking stops every time I walk by and I can't figure out what the hell is going on," she said, her voice going husky.

Priestly realized why she didn't want to talk on the phone about it and he was suddenly sorry he'd asked. _Duh_, he thought to himself. _Now she's crying and there's nobody there to make her feel better. _ He did the only thing he could do, which was try to distract her by asking, "What was it? What was going on?"

"Finally this girl in my Trig class took pity on me and asked me if I knew there was an embarrassing video of me up on the internet."

The ice returned. He couldn't imagine what she was going to say next, but he knew it was going to be horrible.

"So after class I went back to my dorm and pulled up the web address she wrote down for me."

He waited, but she didn't continue. He heard a muffled sound and realized with horror that she was sobbing in earnest, somewhere away from the phone. "Jude!" he called into the phone. "Jesus, Jude, I'm sorry! Come back…we don't have to talk about it anymore right now. Jude?"

She came back on the line, sniffling. "No, I mean, it doesn't make sense to stop now."

"You can. You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry."

She took a few deep gulps of air, which he could hear right through the phone. "No. I just want to get it over with now. I mean, I'm already a mess, and I'm already crying."

"Okay," he replied lamely, rubbing his hand over his face, which felt hot.

"So I pull up the website, and…" her voice cracked again. "Priestly, I was lonely and I was…" she made a noise full of mortification. "Oh, fuck," she finally cried defensively, "I was thinking of you, okay? And I started to…" She swore softly. "I started to…ohmigod…." She drew out the word. Her embarrassment was almost palpable through the phone. She sighed wearily, resigned to it. "It wasn't, you know, the whole…I was still dressed, but I was rubbing myself. It actually didn't get very far because my roommate came home and of course I stopped what I was doing, but…" She sobbed again. Anger flared in him at the shame in her voice. "I guess it was a good thing she came home and freaked me out like that because who knows? I might have done it again and given everybody a real show."

"Jesus," he swore. "God, Jude, that's fucked up. So Kevin filmed it? That motherfucker had a camera on you without you knowing?"

"Yeah," she sniffed. "I skipped class and called the campus police the next morning after I saw the video online, you know, after Amanda left for her classes. I told them about the website and the stupid jerk that came to take the report started smirking, which just made everything worse. But he took a report and looked all over the room for a camera and couldn't find one. So then he asked me if I could pull up the website just so he could see the angle of the video and maybe he could get a better idea where the camera might be. I wanted to tell that smug idiot to shove it but he had a point. So I pulled up the website and he asked me if my laptop was always on my desk like it was right then. I told him no, it was usually in my bag because I take it almost everywhere with me. So then he asks me if I can remember if there was anything else in the room that night, maybe something that wasn't usually there. And I remembered that Kevin's laptop was on my desk and it was still open and plugged in because he was planning to come over and study with Amanda that night because they had the same Biology class just at different times."

Priestly waited as she cried a little again. Now he really wanted to know the guy's name and whereabouts. Oddly, he wanted to beat the dude up even more now than he had before.

"Anyway, long story short, the cops traced the website posting back to Kevin's laptop but he played it off and claimed someone must have hacked his student account, which he accessed through the laptop. He said his student based applications like his Facebook account were acting funny and he suspected some sort of virus or something like that so he'd recently changed his passwords for everything he accessed through his computer. Somebody at the campus police was able to confirm that the video got posted through his student account, so they couldn't do anything to him. I mean, they agreed it was odd that I'd told them how he kept trying to get with me and I kept refusing him and then suddenly this embarrassing video of me ends up on a student bulletin board, but it was all circumstantial. They said they were also able to confirm that he did change his account passwords after the video went up, so it just made his story look more credible. Kevin got put on a disciplinary warning, though, because of what I'd told them about him being pushy and putting his hands on me. They said it was the most they could do to him without actual proof."

"So your roommate, being Kevin's sister, took up for him and you became public enemy number one," he guessed.

"Exactly. But it doesn't end there. After what happened with me, the dorm put security cameras out in the public hallways. Not in the rooms, just in the halls. So the email about how Kevin got put in jail, that was because a girl complained that he groped her and of course he denied it, but it was right there on camera in the dorm hallway. He got put in jail for two days and then his parents bailed him out. I wanted to find out who the girl was so I could offer to help her, you know, be a witness or something if it went to court, but they wouldn't release her name."

"What about the school? What about the warning?"

"They went from first warning to final warning," she snorted. "If he gets in trouble again, he's expelled."

"He should already be fucking expelled!" Priestly protested.

"Yeah," Jude agreed. "But he's like magic or something. He gets everyone on his side. It's crazy. It's like he pulls some freaky voodoo shit or something and everybody just lets him off!"

Priestly didn't mean to but he chuckled at that. That was the Jude he knew. Funny as hell the more wound up she got. "He's lucky I'm not there. He'd be a stain on the sidewalk." She didn't respond to that, so he waited a beat and asked, "You still coming home for spring break?"

"_Yes_," she said vehemently, which made him laugh.

"Cool. We'll have some Joop's to look forward to." He yawned.

"I should let you go. It's late. I have to work tomorrow. I've got a work study job at the library," she explained.

"Ok," he agreed.

"Chicken soup and zinc," she repeated.

"Yup," he agreed to that, also.

"Goodnight, Priestly."

"'Night," he said softly.

He waited for her to hang up first.

* * *

_**A/N: Sort of reaching on the song title for the chapter title on this one. But it's sort of fitting for Jude's situation. I might be a little off on the 2-3 chapters to close thing, but we are nearing the end. Thanks for reading!**_


	66. Undecided

_**A/N: So after the last chapter posted I realized it somehow posted without a name and just posted as "Chapter 65". Doh. It should have been titled, "Faint". **_

* * *

_March 5, 2007_

Priestly woke up on Monday feeling much more human. Trucker almost sent him home the day before, but he convinced Trucker he'd survive and he'd keep the food safe by wearing disposable gloves. The best part was that no one wondered why he was quiet or subdued, so he didn't have anybody fussing or worrying over him. They chalked it up to the cold he was fighting and left him alone.

When his cell phone rang, he considered letting it roll to voicemail. He wasn't sure he was ready to get out of bed yet, and it was on the desk next to his laptop. He lifted his head, testing how it felt. When it didn't feel like his brain was four sizes too big for his skull, he eased up from the mattress, dragging the comforter with him.

"H'lo?" he mumbled, forgetting to check the display first.

"Priestly?"

He instantly tensed. Mike. What now? "Yeah?"

"I need to talk to you. Can you meet me on the beach? Our usual place?"

He thought about telling Mike he wasn't up to it, but he wanted to talk to Mike, too. He wanted to figure out what to do about Tish, whether Mike might help him talk Tish into coming back to the grill. He knew Trucker would be cool with it. Hell, the guy would be thrilled not to have to try to find another employee again.

"You there?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. Sorry. When?"

"My lunch hour's at noon."

"I'll be there."

He didn't wait for a reply, just hung up and checked the time on the clock by his bed. It was just after ten. He sighed and tossed the comforter back on the bed and headed for the shower.

Priestly was waiting by his car in the lot closest to the cliffs where they typically met up. Mike looked grim. They walked down the beach. Neither of them said anything. Mike wasn't in a suit that day, but he still looked overdressed for the beach in a pair of slacks, undershirt, and a pullover. Priestly began to wonder if Mike was going to waste his whole lunch hour walking or if he was planning on talking anytime soon. Finally Mike eased down on one of the larger rocks scattered at the base of the cliffs, checked his fancy watch and said without preamble,

"The way I figure it, there's a better chance it's you." Mike gave him a look he couldn't read. "The timing just makes more sense."

Priestly nodded, already having drawn the same conclusion, and wondered where the conversation was going. He wasn't up to getting in a fight.

Mike grabbed a handful of the small chunks of rock that littered the beach at their feet and tossed one toward the surf, but they were too far away for even his strong arm to make it to the water. After a long and excruciating silence, he said plainly, "We've got to find a way to get past this, because I'm not going anywhere."

Priestly met his eyes, and he could see the flat determination in them. It wasn't the friendliest look, but it wasn't hostile, either. He lifted his chin a little and stared after Mike's next attempt to put a rock in the water.

"And," Mike continued, "If you're the guy I've known you to be for the last four years, you aren't, either."

It was Priestly's turn to give him a look not altogether friendly. "You didn't think that two days ago," he accused flatly.

Mike shook his head, looking annoyed. "Man, give me a break. We were both pissed off. I know I said some shit that wasn't fair. But the one thing I said that was dead on is that Tish is freaked. She's not sleeping. She's barely able to eat. She's a train wreck."

"She's throwing up already?" Priestly asked, his brow furrowing. "I thought that came later." Then he remembered how green she'd been on her last day of work. Maybe it wasn't too early.

As if reading his mind, Mike answered, "No, she's not sick yet. The other day when Trucker told her she could leave early, I don't know what that was. Maybe stress. She's just so upset she's got no appetite." Mike angrily tossed another rock. "So," he went on, "I'm here to ask you to step up and accept the olive branch I'm offering. I told you before. I hope you can get past this, and we can be friends again, but it's not about me right now. It's about Tish. She said you were good to her the other day, so thank you."

Priestly's eyes narrowed. "Man," he spat, "don't fucking condescend to me like that. You don't–"

Mike put a rough hand on his shoulder and shot him an exasperated look. "Dude, I'm sorry if that's how it came across, okay? That's not how I meant it. It's just cool that you took it easy on her when we both know that in your eyes, neither one of us deserves it. We fucked up. We get it. And whether you believe it or not, we regret it. But we can't undo it. I wish I could, man." Mike shrugged, his eyes stormy like the distant clouds. "I miss kicking you around out here." He gestured at the area just south of them. Priestly looked back out at the surf, too. "I told you before. We met through Jude, but I still consider us friends outside of that. Maybe you don't anymore, or maybe you're still just too pissed off at me. But I hope you can get past it. But even if you can't, I hope you can agree to be civil for Tish." He sighed and looked at his watch, rising. With a final look at the surf, he tossed the few rocks still in his hand and began hiking back toward the parking lot.

Priestly squinted in the sunlight, the sun still cheerfully oblivious to the coming storm. He tried to figure out a way to show Mike he accepted the olive branch, but before he could say anything, Mike cocked his head and said,

"It's okay with me if you want to talk to Tish."

Mike must have seen his eye roll because he held up his hands in that familiar peacemaking gesture of his. "Sorry, man. Still not intending any condescension. I just meant I'd rather you keep communicating with her. If I'm right about this, you guys have a lot of details to hammer out. I don't want either of you to feel like you have to sneak around about it."

Priestly nodded. Accepting the olive branch, he tried to offer his own back to Mike. Lamely, he asked, "How's the new job?" He knew Mike did something for a company that consulted with manufacturing companies interested in environmentally friendly operations and developers interested in sustainable building materials, methods, and design.

Mike shrugged. "I like the job, but right now we've got a couple clients who are nervous about all those fires. Have you heard about that?" Mike didn't wait for Priestly to nod. "We keep telling them none of the green builders have been affected. It seems to be environmentalist groups, and since we're all about the environment, nobody's touched anything with our name on it or behind it. But they need extra hand holding, and I'm the guy that's been elected to do it. I get to schmooze and smooth down all the ruffled feathers." He gave Priestly a twisted grin.

"Have fun with that," Priestly replied as they reached his Nova. Mike gave him a nod as he lifted a hand by way of goodbye.

* * *

Priestly arrived home to find the Causemobile bumped up behind Leo's car in the driveway. He followed the voices to the back of the house and found Leo and Trucker nursing beers and poring over some paperwork. They were so engrossed they didn't notice him until he was pulling out a chair at the patio table.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked jokingly.

Trucker looked up over the rims of his glasses with a smirk. "Funny you should ask," he said, plopping a thick packet of papers encased in one of those cheap $1.00 report covers in front of him.

"What's this?" Priestly asked, flipping the blue cover back and studying what appeared to be a photo of an empty store front.

"This is the next generation of Beach City Grill," Trucker told him. "Or it might be, anyway."

"Yeah?" Priestly grinned. "Where is this?"

"About a mile from the boardwalk," Trucker replied.

Curiously, Priestly cocked an eyebrow at him. "This what you wanted to talk to me about the other day?"

Trucker nodded. "Yeah. If I do this thing, I'm going to need reliable people at the current grill so I can focus on the new place until it's up and running and drawing a profit. How much longer do you have until you graduate?"

"Eight classes," he sighed. "Earliest I might be done would be next summer, 2008, and that's if I'm able to keep taking two classes each semester." It wasn't the time or place to be telling Trucker about the whole Tish nightmare. That would be a conversation they'd need to have soon enough, but not now.

Trucker nodded again. "Leo and I have been working up a sort of proposal for you, if you're interested."

Priestly gave him a dubious look. "What's any of this got to do with me?"

"You're a good worker," Trucker answered easily. "You do what needs doing, you pitch in whenever we're short, you have an excellent relationship with our regulars, and you can practically run the place without me. So I'm offering you a shot at it."

Priestly felt a lump of something between indescribable terror and equally indescribable gratitude block his throat as he listened to Trucker's plan. Judging by the clever design (which gave Priestly a lot of benefits while still giving Trucker the upper hand) Leo had helped him with the draft. Priestly would continue on with school, preferably outside grill hours if at all possible. On Mondays, he'd spend some "class time" with Trucker learning all the little odds and ends that he hadn't yet had need to learn, like placing the food orders, keeping the books, inventory, payroll, taxes, insurance, and so on. By the time the new shop was ready to open, Priestly would be in charge of Beach City Grill. Trucker would be a phone call away getting BCG the Sequel up and running. Leo had agreed to give up retirement on an as needed basis to pitch in if emergency staffing issues came up, and Davis, as always, would be another backup source. Priestly's pay would get a boost, but part of his salary package would include an optional "buy-in over time" clause. If he opted for the buy-in, the hefty pay increase would be tempered by a sizable deduction from each check that would very slowly but very steadily increase his interest in the original grill location until it maxed out at a 50% interest, making him a full partner in that location. Under the buy-in, if he ever decided to bow out of the grill business, Trucker would buy back the interest, but he would do so at 25% of the total value of the interest.

His head spinning, Priestly stared down at the last page of the packet Leo had been walking him through, reading over the "buy-in" vs. "opt-out" figures, trying to take it all in. "Wow," he breathed a laugh. "When you said big you should have said major freaking huge."

Trucker chuckled, but he sobered again quickly. "This isn't something for a quick decision. Chew on it. Ask me questions. Ask Leo questions. Maybe consult with someone outside of the picture. Take your time."

Priestly looked from the older surfer to the younger one. "But there's got to be some kind of deadline. That space isn't going to be available forever…"

Trucker nodded. "True. But Leo and I have a whole different plan cooked up if this isn't your bag. And Priestly," Trucker added solemnly, "I can't emphasize enough that this is one decision you need to make completely on your own and for yourself. Me and the grill and my plans, none of it depends on you. Not that you aren't valuable or important, but this is going to happen whether you play a role in it or not. I've already made an offer to lease the space. If it gets accepted, great. If not, I'll keep looking for a location. Okay?" Trucker waited until he nodded before he continued. "I'd love for you to be part of all this. You're a good guy, and I think you and I have built up a solid history of trust and reliability." Trucker's voice got a little rough as he said, "And, hell, you're the closest thing to a kid I've got." In the next breath, Trucker laughed it off, but Priestly thought he'd stop breathing as the lump in his throat threatened to close off his windpipe forever. "Your decision needs to be one hundred percent about you and what you want, Priestly. That one point I can't stress enough."

Priestly nodded, unable to say anything at all. He just sat there dumbly until Trucker tapped the packet.

"Why don't you take that with you? Chew on it as long as you need to."

Priestly just nodded again, tightening his jaw to keep from bawling like an idiot. As he turned to go, Trucker's voice followed him.

"Remember what I said. This decision is all about you. No one else."

He turned and met Trucker's eyes. He couldn't speak, but he held up the packet and nodded solemnly. Then he turned and hurried around the corner of the house, bolting for the stairs to his apartment. He had a lot of thinking to do. More than Trucker even knew.

* * *

_March 9, 2007_

Priestly stood in Mineta San Jose Airport waiting for Jude and wondering what the hell he was doing. What the hell he was doing picking Jude up and what the hell he was doing (or going to do) about Trucker's business proposal. The first one had a simpler answer. Jude's mom could have picked her up, but Jude didn't want to keep her up so late. Mike was out of town overnight checking on one of his company's projects. Really what it boiled down to was it was really late at night and since he was up anyway, he'd offered to pick her up. The second question was far more difficult to resolve. He'd been up way too late most nights puzzling over it, in fact. Accepting Trucker's offer would mean more money but also a lot more responsibility than he might be ready for. These days more responsibility than he might be ready for seemed to be the trend.

Managing the Beach City Grill and having a partial interest in the ownership (eventually, anyway) wasn't too far off of what he'd been hoping for, anyway. It wasn't his own place, but it made a lot of sense to start with something smaller scale and testing the water to see if he liked it and he was cut out for it. And if he still really wanted his own place after all that, maybe his start with Trucker would parlay into something greater. But managing the grill also meant a hell of a lot more weight on his shoulders when there seemed to be quite a lot resting on them already.

But he did need to step up and find a way to start making more money, and in that sense, a solution may have dropped in his lap. By no means was Trucker's offer going to make him rich. Hell, it probably wouldn't even make him wealthy. Over time, though, as his interest in the business grew, he might become financially secure. Sort of. Priestly half smiled as he realized he wasn't even considering the "manage only" option. The pay increase was nice and would get him more immediate financial relief, but he'd seen what could happen to a person's expected future. Instantaneous destruction. Katrina had shown that to him though he was miles away from the storm. He wanted more from his life than constant worry, soap sliver shampoo and Ramen dinners several times a month. If he was going to do it at all, he was going to go all in.

Priestly sighed as he realized he was pacing, earning dirty looks from some of the patrons waiting at the gate and curious looks from others. More of them dirty. He almost grinned at that. Back to his old self again, which meant he was back to getting wary and downright distrustful looks. This time around he met them more confidently. Still, he figured it was probably a good idea if he just tried to sit down and stop moving for a minute. He checked his phone. Still eight minutes before Jude's flight was due to land. And since planes never seemed to land on time, he knew he was in for more waiting.

Trucker had been great. He hadn't said a single word about the proposal, nor did he infer anything or even give Priestly an offhand glance to imply any sense of impatience. Still, Priestly knew it must be on the guy's mind. He had to want to get things more solidified. Every time Priestly thought he'd decided to do accept the buy-in offer, he hesitated. Every time he thought he might pull Trucker aside to talk about it, he came up with another worry or what if or just plain got distracted by customers or his own ponderings.

After all his impatience for Jude's plane to land, he was off in his own world when she said his name. He glanced up at her, taking her in. She wore a heavier jacket than she'd need in Santa Cruz and had a scarf draped lightly over her shoulders, no longer wound properly around her neck. She held a knit cap in her hand. He guessed it was too warm indoors for her to tolerate it. Rising, he gave her a quick, friendly hug and tried to ignore the fleeting disappointment in her eyes. Whatever he felt for her, it wasn't the time or place to begin to figure it out.

"Let's get your stuff and get you home," he suggested. "Welcome back."

She smiled, genuine and bright, any trace of disappointment fleeing at the reminder that she was home for a week. He waited with her at the baggage carousel, making small talk. He asked her what her plans were for the week.

She shrugged. "Mom wants me to spend some time with her, so we'll be hanging out for a couple days. Mike's been bugging me about showing me around his office. I think he's hoping I might be interested in working there when I get back to Santa Cruz." She made a face. "I'm glad he's happy and he's found something he likes, but I don't really think I'm the corporate type."

Priestly nodded. "Yeah, me neither." When she pulled a red bag off the carousel, he took it from her and lifted the telescoping handle until it clicked into place. She smirked as he began rolling it, but she didn't object.

"Still up for Joop's?"

He grinned. "Hell, yeah."

She smiled, too. "Do they still do the concerts in the park on Wednesdays?"

He nodded.

"Then that's when we'll go," she decided, stopping. "Hang on," she said. "I need to get this coat off."

He waited while she put the scarf and hat in the suitcase and draped the coat over her arm then began rolling the bag again. Although he hadn't planned to, he found himself telling her about Trucker's offer.

"What about your own place?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"Well, I think this might be a good way to really dig in and get a look at what something like that might entail. Might be better to be Trucker's right hand man, you know, and work my way up to partner in the shop before deciding to go out on my own."

"How long before you're a full partner?" Jude shook her head, laughing a little. "It sounds like we're talking about a law firm or something," she joked. He smiled at that.

He winced. "Ten years."

She thought about it. "It sounds like a lot," she said, "but I don't think it's really that bad. I mean, you'll be ten years older whether or not you take him up on it, right?"

He nodded. He'd been thinking the same thing. Ten years older and something to show for it…or maybe not. "And since I'd be getting a pretty decent raise, it would be painless. I'd never miss the money," he pointed out, more to himself than to her.

"Good point," she nodded. "I'm not seeing the downside here," she added after a short pause.

"Tish," Priestly replied. "Tish is the downside," he said. Jude just looked at him as they left the airport and began the long walk to his car, waiting for him to elaborate. "The money would help, but then my time will be almost non-existent. And…" he took a deep breath, "if I'm, you know, Dad, I'd be cheating her and the kid out of time." If there was one thing he knew, it wasn't money that made a father. It was…everything else, including time. A cold shot of fear coursed through him as he thought of his own father. Knowing he was a completely different person did nothing to stem his irrational fear of turning out to be like his own father…harsh, judgmental, forcing his own crap on the kid instead of letting the kid just be who he or she wanted to be. Logic, of course, calmly explained there was no way it would happen. But logic wasn't the only voice in his head.

Priestly glanced over at Jude and realized she'd been saying something. She smirked at him as she realized he hadn't been listening.

"Trucker said you're supposed to make this decision all on your own," she pointed out. "So maybe I shouldn't say anything, anyway."

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. "But I'm guessing that's not what you just said while I wasn't tuned in," he said.

"No," she agreed.

Try as he might, he couldn't get her to repeat herself. He gave up as they reached Gossamer and put her bag in the trunk. The conversation turned back to lighter topics as they made their way back into Santa Cruz. By the time they reached Jude's house, it was nearly four a.m. Yawning, Priestly got out of the car to get her bag. Jude stretched and yawned, too. She reached for the bag and he shook his head.

"Got your keys?" he asked quietly, afraid to disturb the utterly silent darkness around them.

She began fishing for them in her purse as she made her way up the front walk. As she reached the door, she turned to him. "Thank you for the ride," she said as he relinquished the handle. "You working today?"

He nodded. "Not until noon, though," he said. Piper and Trucker would open, he'd come in at noon, and Jen would be in at two to work with him and Trucker until close.

"Maybe we can also go out to Moe's or Mojo's?" Jude asked, not yet turning the key in the lock.

"Sure," he nodded, yawning again, muffling it in the sleeve of his jacket.

"Sorry," Jude smiled. "I'm always so happy to be home I'm wired for a little while. Go home. Go to bed," she teased. "I'll call you."

He nodded, waiting for her to get safely inside and check the alarm, which her mother apparently hadn't set since she'd been expecting Jude. As the door closed softly, he wandered back out to his car, wishing life were as simple as hindsight now made it seem. Back when his biggest problem was a girl who would continually love him and then leave him and then love him again. He knew that was simplistic and completely inaccurate, but he found himself wishing he could step into the "Wayback" machine and back into those days. Even if it meant another beat down, he thought he might prefer it to the shit he was in these days.

Shaking himself, he realized he was still at the curb. With a last wistful glance at Jude's house, Priestly took his foot off the brake and eased into the welcoming arms of the quiet, calm night.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry that there is no answer yet on who Tish's baby daddy is. ;P One thing at a time!**_


	67. As Cities Burn

_**March 12, 2007**_

On Monday, late in the afternoon, Priestly found himself at Trucker's house. He'd gotten into the Nova just intending to drive and clear his head, or try to. And after heading up the coast for about an hour, he resigned himself to retracing his path. But instead of driving home, he found himself in Trucker's driveway before he realized what he was doing. And then he couldn't just leave again because, as luck would have it, Trucker was just returning from surfing, his long board tucked under his arm. Understanding that there was something going on, Trucker herded him out to the deck, started dinner, and just waited for him to begin.

When Priestly finished, Trucker just shook his head, his eyebrows raised, and tipped his beer bottle to his lips. After taking a long pull, the old surfer leaned back in his chair, gave Priestly a long look, and said,

"Don't let this make up your mind for you."

Priestly nodded but silently disagreed with the guy. How could Tish's pregnancy _not _affect his decision about the grill? Fuck, it was all he thought about! He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating well. Maybe Mike should be telling Tish that _he _was a train wreck and encourage _her_ to take it easy on _him. _

Speaking of food…Priestly looked the half eaten steak on his plate and tried to talk himself into finishing it. The trouble with that plan was the lump that had settled in his throat at the first mention of pregnancy and never left. Still, he'd been able to plainly see the well hidden concern on Trucker's mellow face for the past few days, and he saw it magnified now. Because of that, he speared another piece and chewed on that even as he continued chewing on Trucker's proposal.

Trucker still wasn't pushing, wasn't even hinting at needing or wanting an answer any time soon. Priestly was grateful for that but felt guilty, anyway. He himself didn't know why it was taking him so long to figure out what he wanted. The answer should be obvious. Go for the buy-in. _Build something for your future, dummy, _was the thought constantly marching through his head. But then an evil, hissing whisper countered back, _What if you fuck it all up? What if all the regulars start going to the new location and you can't draw in enough customers and you end up sinking Trucker's dream? _Between horrifying nightmares of various tragedies befalling the grill under his watch and even scarier nightmares about searching desperately for hidden, crying babies, it was a wonder he was sleeping at all.

Priestly shared none of this with Trucker. Bad enough the guy was probably rethinking his offer. Though the surfer gave no indication of it, Priestly feared that telling him about Tish had let him down. He didn't have to wonder how his father would have reacted, had he still been alive and involved in Priestly's life. There would have been no hiding his disappointment, his embarrassment, his derision. Priestly would likely have marks somewhere from a slap or a backhand or from being shoved into hard corners, and he would likely already have been marched down the aisle to make an honest woman out of Tish…never mind that there was possibly another person responsible.

"What are you thinking about?" Trucker asked after the silence stretched too long and too deep.

Priestly glanced up at him guiltily and then back down at his steak. "Everything," he answered glumly. Trucker nodded.

They talked some more about Tish and the pregnancy, which Trucker seemed pretty straightforward about. He asked Priestly about money and what his plans were. Priestly looked up at him earnestly.

"I'm going to help her any way I can for now," he said grimly. "And if the test says I'm the father, I'm going to have to make some bigger changes." He leaned forward. "Truck, I want to talk to her about coming back to the grill. She left because of me," he said, taking another bite of steak and forcing it past the lump. "She can't go around pregnant with no job."

"I'm cool with that," Trucker nodded. "I tried to talk her out of it last time, but she felt like you two would have a hard time working together."

He shrugged. "We might, but unless she's already got another job lined up, she should just come back to the grill."

Trucker tried to get his mind off things with random stuff, like telling him a story about him and Leo trying to teach his mother to surf. They'd been bugging her about it for a long time now, countering her resistance with a "just try it once, and if you don't like it, we'll never mention it again" sort of attitude. Apparently, his mother had finally caved. Shocked, Priestly almost spit out his beer.

"Mom? My mom?" he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, choking a little. "When was this?"

"Earlier today," he said.

"Didn't she have to work?" he asked aloud, to no one.

Trucker shook his head. "Nah. She took a vacation day."

"I can't picture my mom on a surfboard."

Trucker grinned. "It was pretty funny. Once we got her in the wet suit, she didn't want to come out of the van. Once we got her out of the van, she didn't want to get into the water. Once we got her into the water, she didn't want to paddle out. You get the drift."

Priestly nodded, chuckling.

"So, anyway, we get her out there at Cowells and we're sitting on either side of her teaching her how to watch the waves and time it out so she'll have a chance at getting something good when suddenly she just takes off on her own. Now, Leo and I just watch her, you know, wondering what the hell she's doing. She's not in any danger or anything, but we didn't tell her to go yet. Although, actually, her timing was pretty good. And then all of a sudden she's on her feet and she's _surfing,_" Trucker said, shaking his head and laughing at his own memory, "and Leo and I, our jaws are sitting on our boards. How's she up and running already? She's wobbly but she's going like a champ and all we can do is just watch gape mouthed as she glides on in."

Priestly waited for the punch line. Trucker just laughed and took a swig of beer, so he asked, "What happened?"

Trucker shook his head. "She rode the wave until it died and then she just sat down on her board like she'd been doing it all her life. And when Leo and I caught up to her she had this look on her face like she wanted to laugh."

Priestly thought about his mother surfing. Nope. Couldn't picture it. "So, what? Huge beginner's luck?"

"She wanted us to think so," Trucker said. "But then she told us she used to surf in Florida every summer when she was younger. Did you know that?"

"What?" Priestly looked at Trucker, shocked. He knew she spent summers with her grandparents in Florida, but she'd never in his life mentioned surfing. "Seriously? My mom?" He wondered if he'd fallen into an alternate universe or down a rabbit hole or something.

Trucker shrugged. "Yeah. Guess so. She said your dad was afraid of the water. He freaked out one time when she wiped out real bad at Ponce Inlet. He refused to let her surf after that."

"She never talked about it." Priestly thought again about how much everything had changed and all the ways they were about to change again, like standing on those cliffs at Perdido Key and looking down into swirling darkness. He didn't like to think about that much, about how he'd felt as he'd taken that leap into what might have been the end of his life. How desperate and despairing it was. How stupid it was. And then he thought about everything that came after and realized that for all his recent misery, he was missing one important, vital point. There wasn't a single day since then that he'd ever really been alone. He may have felt alone sometimes, but in reality he had an army of people ready and willing to step in and help him if push came to shove. He thought of everyone who had helped him since he'd come to Santa Cruz. Trucker, obviously. Leo. Jen. Sally and Scooter. Zo. Davis. Mike. Jude.

Something unlocked. A weight fell away as he realized no matter what he chose to do, whatever path he took, he wouldn't be doing it all alone. They might stand back and wait in watchful silence, but if he needed them, even Mike, he realized suddenly that they'd be there. Why he hadn't considered that fact, he didn't know. Whether he bought in or opted out, whether he stayed in school or left school, whether he worked one job or two jobs or ten, and whether he was going to be a father or not, they would be there. Things would be okay. They had been okay for the last four years, and they'd be okay now. Somehow. Because if he needed them, they would be there.

Grinning, he asked, "So did you guys scrap Cowells and move over to Steamer Lane?"

Trucker shook his head. "After that she got out of the water, said she'd made her point, and she was done with surfing."

"Just like that?"

Trucker chuckled. "She said she was pretty sure she just pulled every muscle in her body after not surfing for twenty-eight years and if Leo and I knew what was good for us, we'd get her home to a warm bath and a bottle of aspirin."

Priestly laughed with him, suddenly ravenous enough to finish his steak as he tried to picture his mom on a surfboard.

* * *

_**March 14, 2007**_

He woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Jude. He could tell by the ring tone. The Clash, _Should I Stay or Should I Go_, which he'd done back when he wanted to make sure he didn't accidentally pick up one of her phone calls. It would be very awkward if Jude somehow ever heard her ringtone go off on his phone. Priestly made a mental note to change it the second he was done with her call.

"Hello?" he rubbed his face and looked at the alarm clock. It was going to go off in another eight minutes, anyway, so he switched it off.

"Hi. Are you working today?" she asked.

"No, but I have class in like an hour and then study group. I'll be done around noon, though, if you want to hang out or something."

She didn't try to hide her disappointment. "Bummer. Now I have to let Mike drag me around town."

Priestly grinned. "You going to let him give you the tour of his office?"

"I guess I'll have to," she said. "And then he wants to take me over to see the Whitmarsh-Craven job site."

"What's that?"

She sighed. "I don't know, but he's mentioned it so many times now I know the name by heart. I think he said it was a law firm or something. Am I a bad friend because I'd rather go get a root canal than go look at some environmentally friendly building?"

"Aw, come on," Priestly teased, pulling the curtain aside and poking a finger through the blinds in this bedroom. "It's a beautiful day outside," he said after confirming it was. "You could do worse than being outdoors."

"I guess," she conceded. "I just don't want him to start hassling me about applying at his company. I have no desire to wear office-y clothing and spend all my time in a cubicle."

"Seems to me he spends a lot of time out of the office." _He sure spent enough of it hanging around the grill until Tish quit,_ he added silently.

"Maybe. But it's still not my thing," Jude said stubbornly. It made him grin. Same old Jude. If she didn't want to do something, you nearly had to drag her.

"Maybe I can come down there later and steal you away for lunch. Cut down on your misery," he offered, moving through his room to the closet to grab some clothes.

"Diversion!" she agreed heartily. "I love it! Please do that," she said eagerly, making him laugh.

"I'll try," he promised. "Where is the building?"

"I don't know," she complained. "I'll text you the address later, okay?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "Ok. Look, I gotta get a shower and get to class."

"Okay," she sighed, her dread of the day ahead still perfectly clear.

He laughed again. "Cheer up. Tonight, it's Joop's and a concert in the park."

"That's true," she agreed. "I'll just focus on that."

"There you go. Bye." He didn't wait for her to reply before ending the call and tossing the phone on his bed, though not before he deleted her ring tone. He'd have to assign a new one later. For now, it would just revert back to the default. Priestly sighed and thought he really needed to set his alarm to go off earlier, because he was always just a little late and always ended up running to class from the parking lot.

He couldn't help watching the clock. This particular class was a real snoozer, but he needed it to graduate. The thought of Jude outside in the mild, sunny day without him made him fidgety and restless. And when the class finally ended, he had an equally boring study session with his study group, though he tried to focus and contribute. He didn't want to be the "lazy" one who didn't carry his share of the workload.

He tried to focus on marketing plans and small business development, things he figured he'd probably actually find useful if he opted for the buy-in, but between sweating over Tish and money and time and having a rampant case of spring fever, wanting to just kick back and play a little, he was distracted right up until their self-appointed group leader, Craig, suggested they meet at the same time and place the following week.

Relieved to finally be done with his obligations for the day, Priestly stepped out of the coffee shop and dug his phone out of his pocket with one hand and used the other to pull his car keys from his other pocket. He ducked into the Nova, rolling down the window. He grinned in relief when it started. With an old guy like Gossamer, you just never knew. Even having been rebuilt in the late 90's, he could never quite be sure if it was going to be a good day or not. Like an arthritic old man, Gossamer sometimes sputtered to life slowly or not at all. But he was rumbling happily at the moment, so Priestly hurriedly checked for a text from Jude.

_Soquel Ave just off Oceanview. The only place under construction. Can't miss it. Park across from the site by the empty field._

Luckily, he knew where Soquel Avenue was. She forgot he still didn't know every street in Santa Cruz the way she did, having grown up there. Not exactly close by, either, but it was a good day for a drive. For the first time in days, he was able to just feel good. Cool breeze blasting through the car, good music blasting through the speakers, nowhere to be except wherever he wanted to be. Everything else could wait. The grill, Tish, all of that junk somehow behaved itself and stayed in the back of his mind where he tried to put it, usually to no avail. Today, however, he drove with a sense of freedom and possibility rather than dread and confusion. Tomorrow, he promised. It can all come back tomorrow.

It wasn't like he didn't still feel the clock ticking on decisions waiting to be made or a vague sense of worry over Tish and possibly being a father. He was still mulling over Mike and how to get back to a place where he could trust the guy again. And he was still very aware of Jude and the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Hell, the way she sometimes looked at him even when he was looking right back at her. These things still pecked away at his brain, but they somehow became more of a background noise. He knew the volume was bound to crank up again at some point, so for now he just took it for what it was…a merciful break.

He was just turning off of Oceanview onto Soquel, the fenced-off construction site in view, when the world shattered into a mass of fire and debris with a loud blast.


	68. Frantic

_**March 14, 2007**_

Priestly slammed on the brakes, completely blinded by a cloud of dust and debris. He heard the tinny drumbeat of random objects striking the Nova with varying levels of force. He heard screaming. He fumbled his phone onto the floorboard, shaking so badly he could barely pick it up again. He managed to dial 9-1-1, and then he fumbled for the door, choking as he opened it and lunged out into the street, jerking in horror at the sound of another unholy blast, and then another after that.

Half the building he'd glimpsed driving up was gone. The voice that yelled into the phone was wild and desperate and alien to him even though it was his own.

"Jesus Christ," it said on a sob. "The fucking thing just blew up! Oceanview and Soquel!" They wanted an address, but he didn't know it, so he just repeated, "Oceanview and Soquel!"

He saw two hazy figures that had to be men through the film of smoke and dust and chased after them on weak, rubbery legs, keeping them in sight in the haze by only the bright yellow of their hard hats. Grabbing one of them, meeting eyes surely as wild and panicked as his own, he yelled over the noise,

"Is there anybody else back there?!"

"I don't know, man!" the guy coughed, openly sobbing. "I don't know…"

"Mike Hanson!" Priestly choked. "Do you know him?!"

The guy's eyes roved as he thought about the name. Then, also shouting over the din, he asked, "Is he one of the suits that works for Donnelly Eco?!"

Priestly nodded at the shortened version of Mike's company's name.

The guy shook his head, still yelling to be heard over the racket. "I don't know if he was still here or not. Had some girl with him, showing her the build. I saw them when they first came through, but that was about a half hour ago."

He couldn't breathe. That lump he'd been carrying around in his throat had turned into a boulder. He peered into the dirty brown clouds and tried to see past the thick black smoke now pouring from what was left of the building. Distant sirens wailed somewhere under the roar. Or maybe he just imagined them, expecting the sound and therefore creating it in his mind. He started toward the crumbled structure, already coughing as the breeze, earlier so calm and lazy and comforting, blew thick, noxious smoke in their direction.

The guy in the hard hat grabbed his arm. "No, man, this way!"

Ignoring the guy, he tried to shake free. "Mike!" he shouted, knowing it was in vain. The roar around them, it was like nothing he'd ever heard before. He'd heard the freight train roar of a tornado, and this was worse than that. "Jude?!"

You read sometimes about horrific tragedies, the survivors talking about how the world just sort of stops, everything hovering for eternal stretches of suspended animation. Eternities than in actuality last only seconds. About how things go dull as the traumatized victim attempts to process what was inherently inconceivable just moments before. But he didn't get that. Priestly's experience was one of smell, sight, taste, touch, and sound. Everything magnified. Horrifying.

Sound. His voice screaming the two names over and over, desperate for either of their voices to answer back. Mike, who he'd been so fucking mad at. Mike, who he smirked and sneered at, jabbed and kicked at, who didn't make fun of the kid from Mississippi who fought about as well as a soggy noodle. Mike who saw both sides when Priestly couldn't quite disarm Jude's fears of commitment, remaining friends with him even when he walked away from Jude out of self-preservation. Mike who stabbed him in the back by moving in on Tish. Mike who might be the father of Tish's baby. Mike who earnestly told him he still wanted to be friends…hoped they could still be friends.

And Jude. Jude who… Priestly sobbed again, too, sobbed and kept calling for Jude and for Mike, unable to even think about what she meant to him. Unable to consider where she might be…

He heard himself and he heard the sirens growing steadily louder. Blaring horns, crossing distant intersections, running red lights trying to reach them, trying to help. He tasted the grit of airborne matter…matter that minutes earlier was the mostly completed shell of a future law firm complex. Matter and dirt. Smoke. The smell. The god awful smell of burning. Burning matter. Burning…people, most likely. No. No. Fuck, no.

The hands of the two hard hats holding him firmly at the perimeter. The portion of the perimeter fence closest to them had blown down in the initial blast. He could run right over it and into the complex if they'd just fucking let him go. The sound of their weeping, the hard hats'. Weeping and trying to convince him that there was nothing they could do except get killed, themselves, or get in the way of the firefighters now spilling over the ground from multiple trucks that flashed nearby. The sirens on those trucks cutting off abruptly sent an eerie cold into him. To him it was the sound of lives ending, that sudden silence.

Too much to process. Chaos. The firefighters scrambling and shouting, following orders. Manning the hoses. Barked questions. The two hard hats barking back, still holding him, convinced he would still barrel into the fray if given the opportunity. The screams of a man as two other hard hats carried him past. The smell of burned hair and burned flesh coming from the screaming guy. Just a few more wounded, loudly moaning and crying as they either limped past or were carried by others. He didn't know how many people were at the site before the blast, but their numbers seemed small.

Priestly's throat was raw, his eyes gritty and stinging, leaking tears. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost his voice. He'd only imagined, apparently, that he was still calling for them both. But still he searched the haze for their shapes, strained for the sound of either of them.

Police cars, at least a dozen of them, with their flashing blue and red. Barriers going up. Onlookers being ordered back. A couple more hard hats…other escapees becoming visible as the air slowly began to clear. Everything was very real and not at all dull. Too fucking real. Those other survivors being led out and comforted. Wailing women and silent, wide-eyed men. He searched their faces. There weren't many. And when the hard hats finally let him go, he grabbed at some of them, rasping the two names, demanding answers from shell-shocked people who had none until two uniformed officers forcefully pulled him away. Only then was he able to recognize the fear on their faces. He'd scared the two women with his desperate questions. He hadn't meant to.

"Sir…I need you to come with me. I need you to calm down…"

Priestly looked up into the level gaze of an officer. His eyes were calm, his fingers wrapped tightly around Priestly's bicep. He shook his head, feeling ashamed for having scared the two women. He glanced over and saw them looking at him with such horrible expressions. Such pity, even though they were the ones who had been somewhere near the blast. Such sadness and understanding, even though they were blackened with sooty residue, their clothes filthy and their once perfect hair tousled with fallen tendrils and wayward locks, mascara running in black rivulets down their pale faces.

Weakly, he choked, "I'm just looking for my…for my friends. Mike Hanson," he offered, rubbing his bicep when the officer warily let it go. "He works for Donnelly Ecological Solutions. He was showing our friend, Jude Morgan, around. He–″

The officer cut him off. "We're going to figure this out," he promised, taking Priestly's bicep again, "but right now I need you to step back past the barrier with me."

Priestly tried to give him their descriptions, but the officer was more interested in getting him to stand–and stay–on the other side of a barrier someone had hastily erected out of nowhere. One of the onlookers in the crowd gently pushed a water bottle in his hand, encouraging him to drink. He took it with a mumble of thanks but didn't open it. He saw several ambulances easing to a stop and pushed his way past a couple of people.

Ambulances. The living would come first. If he could get over to the ambulances, he might find Jude and Mike among the wounded being loaded into their depths.

A pretty good crowd had gathered and was continuing to grow as people from nearby homes and businesses came to see what it was they'd heard, what it was that rocked the neighborhood, rattled their windows. He had to push and duck and struggle past them. After the first few he didn't bother with apologies. He tried not to notice that what had been half a building was now even less of one. He tried not to notice the flames still heartily engulfing the black, skeletal remains of anything still haphazardly standing. He tried to will himself deaf, the sounds of terror and pain and suffering bobbing around him like so many buoys in the ocean. And if he hadn't needed his eyes to keep up the desperate search, he'd have willed himself blind, too, rather than see the haunted eyes and hollowed expressions on the faces of those around him.

He ducked past the barriers when no one was looking and searched each gurney that rushed into the gaping mouth of each ambulance, each face that he passed, hoping for Mike's, hoping for Jude's. Dirtied, tear-streaked faces turned to watch him in his frantic searching. He realized suddenly that he was calling for them again. "Jude! Mike! Jude!" None of the weary faces reacted. No one knew them like he knew them. They were too dazed or too relieved to be alive to care. Their eyes wandered after him with detached stares. He heard their voices yelling over one another, shouting into cell phones, trying to tell their loved ones they were okay. He heard shouts as he passed them.

"Mama?! Mama, I'm okay! I'm okay! Don't cry, Mama!"

"Oh, God," another one wailed. "Oh, God, I don't know…"

"Amy?! I love you, Amy…"

He reached the last of the gurneys, glanced helplessly at the burned, screaming hard hat he'd seen being carried earlier, the guy in utter agony. He gagged on the smell that hit him as the gurney passed and jumped as a hand seized his bicep again.

"Sir," the same cop from before pulled at him again, less gently than before. "Sir, I really need you to come with me."

"I'm just looking for–"

"I know you are. I know. But you need to let us and the firefighters do the looking. Is there someone I can call for you?" The pity in the guy's face did it. The assumption he saw there, the one that said his search was pointless. The look that suggested there was nothing left to search for. Priestly turned and vomited violently, his body racking with the force of the spasms.

The officer let him go and an EMT took over, resting a gentle hand on his back as the spasms slowed, giving way to a few dry heaves. "Hey, guy," the EMT's voice was soothing, "why don't you come with me and let me and my buddy take a look at you."

"I'm okay," he choked, uncapping the water, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it on the ground. He did it twice more and then swallowed a little of the water, which felt like glass going down.

"Well, I'd feel better if you'd let us have a look. You're not looking so good…"

He tried to get loose of the guy's grip, but if the cop's had been firm, the EMT's was even more firm.

"Jimmy!" the EMT called, nearing a red EMS vehicle.

Priestly finally gave in and let the guy sit him down on the back of the truck, the one called Jimmy already wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his bruised bicep. He let the guy swab at cuts he didn't know he had until he felt the sting of antiseptic, now starting to experience a little of the numbness people always talked about. He welcomed it, let it seep into him and eat at the ball of ice in his chest. He realized dully where that numbness was coming from. He was losing hope. New ambulances arrived. From his post, he could see that each person loaded into them was neither Jude nor Mike. The wide-eyed trail of weeping, horrified victims was slowing now. Most if not all of the escapees had been delivered into ambulances or into the comforting arms of family members or friends come to collect them.

He closed his eyes against what he knew it must mean, tried to swallow that ball of ice. He ignored Jimmy's questions asking who he could call. He wasn't ready to give up. He wouldn't ask for Trucker yet. He wouldn't try to figure out the phone number for his mother's job, which he still hadn't entered into his phone. He'd never thought he'd need to interrupt her there.

Just when he had his heart successfully closed off, or so he foolishly thought, he heard it. His name. Faintly. Like from far away.

He shoved Jimmy back and searched wildly. It wasn't coming from the direction of the rubble, which was far ahead of him and to his left. It was coming from the barriers to his right. And then he saw her, just for a second, squeezing and pushing past the ever growing crowd of gawkers. Desperately, he shouted her name and caught another glimpse of her.

He ignored the pain in his throat and shouted for her again, his heart stopping at that moment as she burst past the crowd, throwing first one leg and then the other over one of the sawhorse style barricades. She was filthy, her face tear-stained and sooty. Her clothes were equally dirty. The shadows of a bruise stretched from her right temple to almost the middle of her forehead, an angry red cut at the center of an ugly lump. They crashed clumsily into each other, arms wrapping tightly around one another.

Because words couldn't express his relief, his disbelief at holding her against him, he locked his mouth over hers, not sure whether she was the one shaking or if he was. He dug his hand in her hair and buried his face against her left ear, ignoring the heavy smell of smoke that clung to her, oblivious to the long stream of babbling nonsense he was uttering.

"Jesus Christ, Jude…" he heard himself say when he was able to focus on anything other than her heaving sobs. "Jesus Christ…"


	69. God Only Knows

_**Later...**_

The bustle around him was like white noise. You didn't register it unless it was gone. It sat humming in your subconscious, affecting you in ways you couldn't describe. Piper with her sketch book plopped on the counter, charcoal pencils scritching over the page. Jen in the farthest back booth, poring over some kind of paperwork with Trucker. Eddie and Diane at the front table by the windows, glued to their little crackling a.m. radio, listening for the latest on a hurricane watch over the Carolina coast.

Priestly bopped his head to the song playing on the overhead speakers, half wishing Trucker didn't insist on all that Beach Boys type stuff. But it fit the grill. He flipped the chicken breasts and with a furious motion, chopped them up with the sharp edge of his Franken-Spatula, a long handled ceramic contraption with a wide, flat blade sharpened along one edge. He finished the round of sandwiches and had them packed and ready to go for pickup then turned back to scrape the grill clean.

The creaky sound of the front door reminded him that someone should freaking douse the hinges with some WD-40. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the two women that entered, chattering cheerfully about something or other. He figured the subject of their chatter probably lied somewhere in one of the brightly colored shopping bags they carried. With a fond grin, he rounded the counter just in time to snatch up the little blur seldom recognizable as a three year-old boy as it flashed past him, grinning wider still at the wild giggles that erupted from the kid as he simultaneously tickled ribs and plopped a loud, noisy kiss on the little guy's cheek.

Pointing, the little guy ordered, "Mommy, too!"

Rolling his eyes, Priestly leaned in, sliding an arm around Tish's rounded belly, and plopped a noisy one on her, too. "Hey, Tish," he greeted, then jumped a little as he felt the unmistakably strong kick against his forearm.

"Hey, yourself," she smirked, wincing and sliding her hand under his arm to rub the spot just kicked by a mysterious foot.

"Iced tea?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow as he set the now bored and wriggling boy back on the tile.

"Yes, please," she said wearily, already heading for the single empty banquette. He fought a grin as he watched her consider the more comfortable booth side but abandon it in favor of the chair. Her belly would never fit between the bench and table. He considered teasing her but decided against it as he studied her tired face and checked his watch. He was late. Again. Priestly wondered if he and his Franken-Spatula should have a pointed conversation with the guy about obligations and expectations and workaholic tendencies. No. Tish would have a fit.

He finished filling her tea, half aware of several things at once. Mikey charging at Trucker with a gleeful cry. "Grampa!" Trucker rubbing his spiky brown hair with one hand and hurriedly moving a stack of papers out of harm's way with the other as Mikey accidentally knocked over his water glass. Jen leaping up to catch the bar towel Priestly tossed their way. And Jude's arms sliding around him from behind, nearly as tall as he in her high heels, her lips nestling close to his right ear.

"I'm pregnant," she said softly.

He turned to her in surprise, his heart in his throat. "Really?"

She nodded, her eyes soft and watering. He let out a sigh and guided her backwards into the back room, away from the view of the customers as he wiped the tears from her face. He smiled against Jude's neck as he kissed the place where it met her shoulder, the place that made her shiver. She met his lips with a fervor that he matched, backing her up against the Beast which, thankfully, wasn't running at the moment. Otherwise she would never be able to hear the soft string of delirious words he whispered to her, and he would not hear the replies she managed between his kisses. Words of love. Words of desire. Assurances that he was happy. Why would I be mad? _It's not like we're rolling in money_. Fuck money. We're not the Rockefellers, but we've got enough put aside. We've got this. She grinned against his lips as he said those words.

"Hey, boss man, get out here! They're starting!"

Priestly lifted his head from his wife's delicious lips, smoothing his hands over her still flat belly, and backed away from her. Jude smoothed her clothes as he peeked out of the back room to see what was going on.

Priestly tossed his grill man, Gabe, an apron, pulling the ties to remove his own and watched Tish lift her face to accept Rick's kiss. Good. He wouldn't have to have a conversation with the guy, after all. He was late, but not unforgivably so. Mikey, settled in Trucker's lap with crayons and a paper placemat, lifted his head and then lowered it again, apparently unimpressed by Rick's arrival. Well, the kid would warm up to him. Maybe. Priestly felt a little kick of guilt. Probably his fault for not exactly being the guy's biggest fan. Tish loved him, though, and for that reason alone, Priestly tried to just watch from the sidelines instead of getting in the guy's face whenever he was late or thoughtless or careless or stupid, which seemed to be often. Or maybe Priestly just had high standards.

He hadn't heard them come in but was surprised to find his mother and Leo chatting with Trucker and Jen, standing beside the back booth. Zo had also come in from her shop across the street and was now sitting beside Trucker. That was when Priestly noticed another smiling couple crowded around the booth and let out a whoop.

"Sally!" he cried, tugging the tiny woman in his arms. The last time he'd seen her was about six months after Mikey was born when Trucker had the belated grand opening party for the BCG's new location.

"Oh, I missed you!" she laughed, her eyes dancing as Priestly let her go and shook Scooter's hand. "Where's my favorite little guy?" she asked, crouching down to Mikey's level as he played shy guy and pressed his face into Priestly's jeans with a bashful grin. Sally just giggled and made a joke about him not taking after his father at all, which made everyone within earshot burst out laughing.

Jen and Piper slowly came out from the walk-in, carrying the largest cake Priestly had ever seen. Together they eased it down on the folding table they'd set up just for that purpose. Three candles. Three years of Mikey's life, and about three and a half years since Mike's death in the Whitmarsh-Craven explosion.

The media went wild over the explosion. Was it part of the string of fires and explosions suspected to be the work of one of several environmentalist groups? It didn't fit the usual pattern. The fires had been occurring after working hours, when there was less chance of anyone being injured. The Whitmarsh-Craven explosion would be the first fatalities reported. The speculations flew for days until finally the C & O report was released. The fire was due to nothing more than human error involving a devastating mix of built up static electricity and faulty gas valves, a large build up of free gas in underground pockets, and the unfortunate proximity of several as yet uninstalled commercial propane tanks which caused the secondary and tertiary explosions. Mike was one of twenty people who never made it out of the building. His body was one of six bodies never found.

Priestly somberly stared into the glow of the freshly lit candles, remembering that other blaze, then mentally forced those thoughts to the back of his mind and swooped Mikey up, loudly and obnoxiously joining everyone in singing the birthday song.

"Make a wish, Mikey," he encouraged. After a few seconds he urged, "Okay, buddy, blow 'em out!"

He watched the child, wincing as he half blew, half spit the candles out. No matter. They all cheered and fussed as the flames gave way to wisps of smoke. He put Mikey down and took Tish's free hand, the one not clasped in Rick's, tugging her closer and squeezing her hand as he watched it move through her eyes as it always did. Mikey's birthday…and Mike's. Same fucking day.

Waiting for the time to be right to do the paternity test had been excruciating. Tish had been… Priestly inwardly shook himself again, not wanting to recall how despondent she'd been. How she moved through the first few months of her pregnancy in shadows of despair. Her grief was long and deep, less about what she and Mike had actually had, he mused, and more about what she felt, deep down, that they _might_ have had, given time and the chance. _And who knows_, Priestly thought with a sudden ache of his own. _She might be right_. Angry as he'd been at Mike, he'd seen it, himself. Tish and Mike had one of those instant, deep connections. The kind that seemed forged before this life. The kind that would continue after it. Like him and Jude.

Priestly watched Mikey getting delightfully messy, cake and icing all over the kid, his clothes, his skin, and his hair and quickly spreading to Trucker, who mellowly swiped at it with a napkin. Grampa. Not really, of course, since Trucker wasn't Priestly's father. But every once in a while one or the other of them let something slip to indicate each one of them felt they might as well be father and son. Like three and a half (or so) years ago when Trucker had proposed the buy-in, for instance. And then after Mike's funeral service, when Priestly was done holding Jude and Tish up, shoring up the walls of their hearts, it was in Trucker's gentle care that he, himself, broke down and was able to share his own. And, of course, it slipped out in the way Priestly taught Mikey to call Trucker "Grampa".

Tish had been in too dark a place when the first availability for paternity testing arose. He thought he'd go crazy wondering, but Mike's death put things in a greater perspective. Regardless of who was the father, Tish was alone. She needed help. She needed money. She needed support…financial and emotional. True to the village Priestly had been "raised" in since coming to Santa Cruz, they all just closed in around her. Priestly signed on to the buy-in option at the grill, and his first action as manager was to order Tish back to work there until she figured things out.

He participated fully in her pregnancy, assuming he was the father and acting accordingly. He went to all of her milestone OBGYN appointments. He nearly cried as he tried to figure out what she and the technician were seeing in the blob of motion that was the sonogram and actually did cry at the sound of the heartbeat. At another of the appointments, he got a huge lump in his throat as the doctor announced that Tish was having a boy. He'd been solemn on the first visit in her final trimester when the doctor performed the SNP microarray, a non-invasive, low risk prenatal paternity test with 99.99% accuracy. Afterward, when Tish confided to him that, no matter what, she wanted to name the baby after Mike, he readily agreed.

Priestly was genuinely surprised when the test came back reading "Boaz Priestly is excluded as the biological father of Michael Priestly Madison." He felt like he'd lost something even though it was never his in the first place. Mike's parents, as his next of kin, had graciously consented to the preservation of DNA for later paternity testing. If Priestly was surprised at his own results, he was fucking gob-smacked as he read, "Michael James Hanson is excluded as the biological father of Michael Priestly Madison."

He remembered the sick feeling as he met Tish's eyes and realized who the father must be. Or might be, given that they'd all been so sure it was it was Priestly and then how sure they were that it was Mike. Tish's grief was renewed when Mike was deemed not to be the father, but it turned to icy silence as they stared at each other, both realizing who the father had to be. Tadd.

It took him another couple months to realize something was wrong with that possibility and to confront Tish on it. She'd broken down and tearfully admitted that one night, about a month after she'd started dating Priestly and they'd had a huge fight, she went out drinking with some of her girlfriends. She had way, way too much. She ran into Tadd who, for reasons she was too drunk to understand, offered to give her and her friends a ride home when it was clear that even their DD was too bombed to master the fine art of driving. She woke up next to him in his bed, naked and horrified, with no memory of what had or had not happened. She snuck out of his apartment without waking him and hadn't seen or heard from him since. Hearing this, Priestly had gone so red in the face that Tish started bawling and begging him not to hate her, not realizing that he was furious for a whole other reason.

_Rape, Tish, _he'd said in a voice so low and dangerous he'd scared her. With her own face deep red, she admitted she didn't know if it was rape or not. She couldn't remember anything. It was why she hadn't gone to the police, though every instinct screamed at her to do so. Sober, she would never even have spoken to Tadd let alone gotten into his car. Given her abject humiliation, it was tough to stay furious at her like he wanted to.

As her due date neared, Tish tearfully shared her fears with him. If she told Tadd, if he even agreed to testing and was confirmed to be the baby's father… _No. No way. I can't,_ she'd wept hysterically, cradling her belly protectively, _Oh, God, Priestly, if he knew he might try to take him from me…_ As afraid and unprepared as Tish felt, she also felt that eternal connection of mother to child. Telling Tadd, risking the potential consequences, was out of the question. Unfair or not, telling Tadd was not an option.

Mike's parents, though gracious enough to allow the DNA sample from their deceased son, were less than gracious upon discovering the results. After their final birthing class, Priestly quietly told her to put his name down on the birth certificate, and then he'd never mentioned it again.

Though it put him back to the occasional bottle of soap sliver shampoo and sometimes a couple weeks of Ramen dinners, he continued with the partnership agreement with Trucker at the grill, he finished his Bachelor's degree, and he helped Tish out with her medical bills. When Tish gave birth, Trucker put Leo and Davis in charge of the grill and kicked Priestly out of it for a week's paternity leave. As far as the entire world knew, Mikey was his kid. Only Tish, Trucker, Zo, Leo, Jude, Priestly, and his mother knew otherwise. Tish wasn't sure whether or not she would ever tell Mikey the truth. Priestly wasn't sure how he felt about that, but for the time being, it didn't matter. He was too young for that conversation, anyway. And besides, Priestly knew better than anyone that being blood related didn't necessarily make you _family_.

"Hey," Jude's arms slid around him from behind again. He turned himself around so he was facing her. She played with the little cowlick that tufted out at the back of his head. "Thinking about Mike?"

He nodded. Jesus. Jude. If you'd suggested to him that she would be standing in the grill with him, now donning an apron, herself, he'd never have bought it. He'd fully expected her to drop out of school, at least temporarily. Although she remained in Santa Cruz for another week after Spring break ended, she'd packed her things and flew back to Pennsylvania. She'd told him later that ironically, other than him, school was the only thing that kept her from losing it completely. He understood that, though. Just like the buy-in had done for him, finishing her senior year had given her something to focus on, something to draw her out of her sorrow and dark thoughts. And he was wrong, too, in his assumption that she'd withdraw from him like she always did upon returning to school. She didn't. She clung to him at the gate as if she'd never let go. Her last wobbly words before turning to head down the walkway to the plane were, "I love you." Her emails and phone calls ended the same way. She hadn't left his side since returning to Santa Cruz after graduation. No petty fights. No pulling back.

"Thinking about everything," he admitted, swaying with her to the Beach Boys' _God Only Knows. _He didn't have to explain. She understood it. Mike's birthday did the same thing for her. He'd never forget finding her at the build site after searching so frantically in the chaos of emergency personnel, smoke, screaming, crying, and panic. He'd never forget how they'd come together, clinging, half sobbing into each other's mouths as they'd suddenly and fervently kissed. There was more emotion in that first kiss than in a lifetime of kisses. In the utter silence that appeared to fall over only the two of them, he could all but hear their souls irrevocably intertwining in that one frozen moment in time before the shouting and sirens and chaos flooded back in. It was less time than a heartbeat, yet it changed them both forever.

He returned to the now, to her fingers gently twisting the cowlick, gently tugging on it and with that motion, tugging him back to reality. But for another golden second, it was just the two of them, like it had been that time before. "'God only knows what I'd be without you…'" he sang softly so that only she could hear, fading out along with the Beach Boys as they stared into each other's eyes, feeling their history.

And then Mikey chortled with glee as Trucker shook him upside down by his ankles...at least until Zo suggested that doing that so soon after cake would probably end with him wearing it. Their isolation shattered, Jude and Priestly broke reluctantly apart as Piper called out to everyone to gather around, holding her camera. She turned toward the door with a smile as Noah and Julia came in, arriving late from another birthday party for one of Julia's classmates. Fuzzzy darted in behind them, coming in from work with apologies about traffic. Priestly grinned to himself as he realized he was probably never going to stop thinking that name in his head every time he saw Jeff. He watched Jen, who was only able to be at the grill because she was currently between highly paid computer systems consulting assignments. She tossed aside the paperwork she'd been studying with Trucker so she could kiss Jeff hello. Married over two years and still acting like newlyweds. Priestly vowed he and Jude would be exactly the same way, though they hadn't even hit their first anniversary yet.

Piper set the camera on a tripod and moaned that she wasn't sure they would even all fit in the picture. Still, they tried. Finally, with Noah and Piper in the back row on overturned crates, holding Julia between them, his mother and Leo next to them on their own crates, followed by Trucker, Zo, Jen, Jeff, Sally and Scooter standing normally in front of them, and Rick, Tish, Priestly, and Jude sitting down in front with Mikey leaning equally against Tish's and Priestly's knees, the timer for the flash went off, capturing forever the greater part of their makeshift village.

Now, a week later, Priestly held the framed shot in his hands as he studied the walls of the grill and tried to figure out where it should go. Piper, who didn't have to work but remained on at the grill because she liked having something to do until Julia got out of school for the day, stood beside him contemplating the walls. She had no suggestions. He stared down at the photo. These people, his family. Memories rushed over him like the waves he so long ago dove headlong into. Life. So amazing. Stuff you couldn't predict, wouldn't expect. Shit that knocked you to your knees. Things that sent you soaring. Moments that blocked your throat, choked you up. He felt so far away from the person he'd been seven years ago, the guy who'd filled a backpack with stones to match his heavy heart and plunged into the ocean. The same guy now in the center of all that love. The same guy…born again.

-End-

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_**A/N: Gratitude to all of you who have followed, favorited, commented...it's been a great ride! I'd love to hear from some of you silent followers. Thoughts? Likes? Dislikes? Thanks again for the journey into my take on Priestly's life and how he came to BCG!**_


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